My paternal grandmother, Vivien, was a petite, blond, quintessential
English lady and an astute businesswoman. She was the perfect grandmother as
far as I, her first grandchild, was concerned. She had stocks of my favorite
fondant mini cakes and always made meals for at least 30 people even when there
were only 6 of us for dinner. Her chicken soup pot was bottomless and my father
always enjoyed teasing her that there were at least 15 potatoes for each person.
She took me to the ballet and out to restaurants for lunch. She was generous to
a fault. She loved beautiful things and she saw the best in people. Her
response to a difficult situation was always “As one door closes three open.”
and I have carried that mantra with me however clichéd it sounds.
As I have been trying to make sense of the last five months
of Jonny’s illness, brain surgery and recovery it has occurred to me how pieces
of our family life seemed unwittingly to have fallen into place just in time
for Jonny’s trigeminal neuralgia to roar into action.
