With all that I have now shared with you all, I feel like I can also share with you something that has horribly began to coat my soul.

I always used to fear death. The word alone, was enough to make me shudder. However, that is no longer the case. Death, it can end intolerable suffering. It can put a final stop to someone's pain or inability to live life as they had always intended to. With all that I have since lived and since seen, it is ageing that I shudderingly now fear. It is ageing, that will often keep me awake on the darkest of long nights.

You might think me irrational.

You might think me as being melodramatic.

But you have to understand, that I had to watch my nan get older. I had to endure watching her deteriorate; day by day, month by month. Getting older, is far more scarier to me than death ever shall be. With death, our bodies and our energies separate. The two, no longer work as one. Instead, our energies survive, without the constraints of the physical shell that we were born into.

That, I can cope with.

Ageing, is something I honestly struggle with.

My darling nan, she had a mixed-bag in life.

Her first husband was a violent drunk, with whom she had five children with. She would find the strength to leave him and work damn hard to support herself and her children. Nan never shied away from hard work. In her lifetime, she was a domestic hand, a carer, an assembler and an highly skilled solderer. Even when her youngest son died of bone cancer at the age of twenty one, nan still had to carry on working to take care of her other children.

In time, she would meet my Gramp. They would go on to get married and live together in a convenient harmony. I say that, because I don't think that nan and Gramp chose to stay together because of love, I think they stayed together because it was just easier that way.

They had a mutual respect for one another. Gramp once told me that even though he was never 'in love' with nan, he deeply admired and cared about her, because she had always been such an hard-working woman. I never spoke about that with nan herself, for fear that it might upset her. But I sensed that nan had never truly been 'in love' with my Gramp either. I think she saw him as an heroic figure, for he had rescued her from being a single mother of four.

I think circumstances kind of just threw my grandparents together. Gramp had been sleeping in his car, after having a series of arguments with his first wife about her allowing her father to smoke his pipe in their home, knowing that my Gramp vehemently forbade it. Apparently, he tried to return home to his wife on a number of occasions, but his wife's ageing father had moved in and continued to smoke that pipe of his in their house. Gramp was an incredibly proud man, and it was his pride that would end his first marriage and would eventually throw him into the arms of my struggling nan.

Not exactly a passionate love story, but I suppose we are talking about two people who came from an entirely different generation. When they met, it was at a time when scandal was to be avoided at all costs and 'keeping up appearances' was very much the done thing. To stop tongues wagging, nan and gramp married. Together, they chose to do the 'respectable thing'.

Regardless of how they did get together, I only have happy memories of them actually being together. Yes, they argued. Mainly over nan getting too involved in other people's business and the Sunday roast dinner gravy being far too lumpy—that's all I ever remember them arguing about.

When gramp died, nan did just got on with her life. She moved from the flat that they had lived in at the sheltered accommodation, to another flat that was only a stone's throw away from that one. As my family grew, nan had to adapt to my not being around so much. Motherhood had made me more of a mother, but sadly less of a granddaughter. We made sure that nan came to us every single Christmas Day, though. In fact, nan would come for seventeen festive years with us.

And yet, it somehow never seemed enough.

I owed so much to my nan. She and gramp both gave me somewhere to run to when I couldn't handle being with my mum. They both loved me unconditionally. They both gave me what my own parents never could.

So when I felt like our bond was being tested, I found that incredibly hard. I'd say the first time that bond was truly tested, was at Jason's wedding. That day, nan had acted much like a demanding child—sulking, crying and being a little manipulative.

At the time, I just put it down to her feeling overwhelmed and emotional. I mean, it had been the first time in god knows how many years, when our family had all been in the same room together. So, I kind of dismissed it.

I had my routine.

Nan had hers.

Between the many school-runs, I was writing.

Even though I worked from home and was making no money whatsoever, writing was something that was solely for me.

It wasn't for my family.

Wasn't for my nan.

It was just for me.

If I was sad, I'd work that into a chapter.

If I was happy, I'd work that into a chapter as well.

Motherhood.

Marriage.

Writing.

They all became my busy life.

If I wasn't able to see nan, we would always regularly speak on the phone. Our bond may not have been as it once was, but we still did at least have some kind of a bond. Besides, nan seemed happy. She wasn't as active, but she was still able to potter around in her flat and her tiny front garden. Myself and other health professionals were constantly trying to discourage her from using that darn wheelchair, but she always ignored us. For as sweet as my Nan could be, she could be just as stubborn.

She liked being the centre of attention.

She liked having people run around after her.

Yet she did it in an almost childlike way, which meant that she got away with an awful lot until people realised what she was doing.

That's not to say that those people weren't benefiting from being my Nan's gopher—she would buy them lunch, pay for their fuel if they took nan out, she would treat them to their favourite tipple—that kind of thing.

Myself and Rick would often have a giggle about it. I mean, nan was in her eighties, and had a handful of minions all running around after her. It was kind of funny, until it stopped being just that.

In the summer of 2017, all of the humour quickly left me.

I would receive a telephone call that set in motion a series of events that I didn't have time to ever prepare for.

"Hi Mary Rose, my name is June, I'm your nan's support worker. I've had some concerns regarding your nan for quite some time now but your nan wouldn't ever let me call you. In light of her recent behaviour, my manager has said that he now gives me permission to make this call, for he feels that you should be made fully aware of what is going on with your nan."

That call, it changed everything.

I hadn't even known that nan had a support worker, but apparently she had, and for eighteen months prior to that initial phone call. I don't think nan ever wanted to worry me. She never minded being a nuisance for everyone else, but never wanted to be one for me. Not that she would have been. I knew she was getting older— her heart had a pacemaker, she would have the odd fall, she would burn the toast and have the fire brigade go to her house—old age had finally caught up with her.

But June had told me that nan had said that she was depressed and lonely, and that never sounded like the nan that I knew. She had friends. She had me and my family, plus a few other family members. She went out, she socialised. None of what I was being told made any actual sense. Then I was told how she had began to upset some of her neighbours with her odd behaviour. Nan kept standing in her bedroom window, just staring at them. She wouldn't smile or wave, she would just stare at them in an unnerving way. Again, that wasn't like my nan.

June then went on to say that a couple, who my nan had told me herself were great friends of hers, had put in quite a few complaints about nan. I was so upset and confused about it all. That only got worse when I received an email from the lady in that couple. She had written that my nan had become obsessed with her partner, but he was just too nice a person to say no to my nan constantly calling him to do various things for her. She stated that they no longer felt like they were my Nan's friends anymore, they felt more like they had become her carers.

I understood that, so I knew I had to step in.

It would later be confirmed by a GP that nan had a urine infection. At the time, I was assured that it would be more than likely the reason for all of her strange behaviour...sadly, that assurance was short lived.

What began as a small concern for my nan, soon grew into a big concern. The complaints about nan continued from a lot of her neighbours at the sheltered accommodation. She had become disagreeable about most things. She was talking about things that she never would usually talk about; sex being one such thing.

At the time, I had a lot of things going on at home. My middle son was struggling with his exams and his need to decide on a college course, while my youngest son was being assessed for Asperger's.

My role as a mum was always busy anyway, but I began to feel totally overwhelmed with the constant intrusion of doctors, nurses, support workers and social services calling me about my nan. I was Nan's next of kin, so I was always going to be the one they called.

As the weeks passed, I would be there to witness nan being assessed for so many different things. I had to take full control of her finances and her bills, because nan could no longer manage to do them by herself. It was a huge responsibility, one that I did because I simply had to.

My uncle, Nan's oldest son was on hand for me, but there had never been much of a connection between himself and nan. One of her other son's had left the area decades before, severing that mother/son bond forever, while her other son had died of lung cancer some years before, which only then left my mother...and nan never wanted mum to be her next of kin.

So, that responsibility fell upon me.

I did my best.

I really did.

As we went into 2018, nan ended up having carers come to her flat twice a day. I was doing her shopping and some of her cleaning, while another paid cleaner came in on the days that I couldn't. For some weeks, we all fell into a nice routine. It really was the calm before the storm. For just when things began to settle and nan seemed to be picking up—both physically and mentally—her decline devastatingly hit.

Nan ended up in hospital for nearly two months. All the visits and the phone calls that I had to be a part of, emotionally exhausted me. On more than one occasion, I prepared myself for the worst. On the way to the hospital I would be afraid of the nan that I would be going to see. But she would have good and bad days. So on some visits, I would come away feeling positive. While on other visits, I would sob all the way back home.

Nan had always told me that she never wanted to go into a nursing home, but during one hospital visit, she had looked at me with a sad smile tugging on her lips and heavy tears in her eyes. "I think it's time, Mary Rose...I think it's time that I go into a home."

For nan to know herself that she no longer could live independently at home, silently broke both of our hearts. I can't tell you how hard it was for us both to have to surrender to her old age. That old age had left nan incapable of walking anymore, she could no longer use the toilet all by herself and the doctors told me that dementia had crept inside of her mind.

The whole painful process of finding nan a care home, wasn't a simple process. It was stressful, time-consuming and downright disheartening at times. However, nan was eventually placed into a care home; one that was nearer to my home. With Rick, I then had to do the equally heartbreaking task of emptying Nan's flat. Luckily, we had already organised the Power of Attorney and her Will, so I was fully aware of what nan wanted done with most of her belongings. Other than what she would be taking with her to the care home, and the items that were to be given to either myself or other family members, everything else went to a local cancer charity.

"Just promise me that you'll not get a skip and put all of my belongings in there, Mary Rose? That happened to one of my neighbours when she suddenly died, and it broke my heart to see all of her life being thrown away in that skip." Nan had begged me from her care home bed.

I kept that promise.

Everything was either donated or taken by myself and Rick to the tip. No one at the sheltered accommodation ever got to see the contents of my Nan's life just tossed inside of a skip cart.

Even though I had often doubted my decision to place nan into a care home, I can truthfully say that I now feel like it was one of the best things that I ever did for her. There, she began to eat properly again. She began making friends again. She enjoyed their craft days and when the music man would come and sing for them. She was happy and adored by the staff. Again, a peaceful time had embraced us all.

I was sleeping better.

I knew that nan was safe.

Then in the summer of 2018, I was requested to have an MRI regarding the hearing loss in my right ear. I had been diagnosed with Otosclerosis, but the consultant wanted to check that there were no other conditions present. About a month later, I received a phone call from my GP that caused my entire world to spiral.

"There has been some abnormalities found in your brain. We need to discuss lifestyle changes and have you heard of hardening of the arteries?" The doctor had so bluntly asked me.

I won't lie, I panicked.

I was being told that there was something happening inside of my brain.

From what the doctor was insinuating, I was an overweight heavy drinker and smoker, who needed to go on a diet and quit the booze and fags—which made no sense at all to me.

"I don't understand why I have this. I regularly exercise, my diet is pretty good, I barely drink and I have never smoked." Is all that I could emotionally counter back with to the very matter-of-fact doctor.

"Then we need to run some more tests, to check for underlying conditions that can cause hardening of the arteries." Was his equally blunt response.

I had those tests, and they all came back clear. For about a week, I fell apart. I cried and cried, feeling like I had been handed a death penalty. Then, with some research and some wise and kind words from a lovely nurse, I gained some much-needed perspective.

Yes, I have hardening of the arteries in my brain.

No, it doesn't mean it will kill me.

Many people have this, usually around their heart or organs. Of course, I would have to be diagnosed with the rarer kind within the brain, but this is me, I almost expect this kind of thing now. Anyway, that being said, I began to accept it and was determined to not let it ruin my life. It just meant that I had to start taking better care of myself. With better knowledge and better understanding of my condition, I felt able to do that. A lot of people don't ever have that knowledge or awareness of it, until something suddenly happens with their health. It's only because I had that MRI, that I was made aware of what's inside of my brain. Otherwise, I never would have known.

Usually, I would have shared something as important as that, with my dear nan, but I chose not to tell her. Conversations with her became so hit and miss. Some days, she could be lucid and chatty. Other days, she would be dazed and distant. I never really knew the nan I would be visiting. Some of the things she would talk about were completely nonsensical, while other things were just like having my real nan back in the room with me again. I began cherishing those conversations, cherishing those precious moments.

While I endeavoured to take care of myself and my family, nan had truly settled into the care home. Then sadly, I broke my wrist just before Christmas. During a roller skating party, I got a little too over confident and ended up badly falling and causing two fractures to my wrist. Those breaks ended up needing surgery to repair, and my recovery from that repair made it difficult for me to see my dear nan as often as I wanted to. Again, that old thing called guilt began settling into my bones, but the care staff assured me that nan had taken the news of my accident well. I honestly had began to think that 2018 truly hated me.

Despite my roller skating injury, nan enjoyed a wonderful first Christmas in her care home. For that, I was so grateful for. As I recovered over the weeks, nan truly began to look better. She was happy, and that made me happy. As her 90th birthday approached, she had excitedly told myself and the care staff what she wanted—afternoon tea followed by music and singing.

I had arranged for Cora to bake a huge Victoria sponge cake for nan. The carers were going to decorate the communal area and the music had been booked, while I had ordered her balloons and bought her a few little presents. Nan's birthday was going to be a great day.

Her birthday was on the Monday, and I had seen her on the Friday before. "I'm really looking forward to my birthday, love." Nan had said with a girlish twinkle in her eye.

"I'm glad, Nan...it's going to be a fun day with lots of cake and singing." Was my happy reply to her, because there had been so many times when I thought that nan wouldn't ever reach this celebratory milestone.

That heavy and unsettling feeling, I think it had been trying to get me ready for what was about to come.

On the day of Nan's birthday, I was saddened by the sight that was waiting for me. Sat in her wheelchair, she was like a zombie. She was sleepy, unresponsive and completely unaware that it was her birthday. I knew then, that the beginning of the end was close. On the Wednesday, nan tried to open her presents, but was too weak to do so. Her balloon was still attached to her wheelchair, while her cake remained untouched in the fridge. By the Thursday, she had been rushed to the hospital with low oxygen levels. She would be released the following day, only to be admitted with the same thing just a couple of days later.

"I love you, Mary Rose. I love you so much." As weak as nan was, she would repeat this to me. "Take my hand, Rick...I want you to hold it." To my stunned husband, she asked him to hold her. I don't see Rick get emotional very often, but on that day, I saw tears in his eyes and his inability to talk. Without it ever being said, I think nan knew that she was dying.