Last grandparent, gone

My grandmother passed away yesterday afternoon. My father's mother. She moved to South Africa, from Paris, about five years ago and she was in a steady decline from before she arrived; Alzheimers. 18-months ago she had to be moved into a care facility when, within a few days she went from barely capable, to almost comatose. She recovered substantially from this episode but continued to decline mentally and physically. Over the past few weeks she'd been sleeping a lot more than usual and on Wednesday she had a stroke. She slept pretty much all day until she stopped breathing yesterday. A peaceful way to pass.

Sadly, I have never been close to any of my grandparents as I grew up with them in different countries. My family was very much 'ahead of its time'. As a child, most of my friends had their grandparents living in the same suburb or fairly nearby. My family was more like families today - 20 to 30 years later - where family members are spread around the world.

My mom's father lived in Zimbabwe and then in Eshowe. When I hit high school (aged 12) he moved up to Jo'burg. He alternated living with my mom and me for a few weeks and then with my uncle. Injured in WWII, his one leg had been amputated below the knee. As a small child I can remember tapping his wooden leg - always fascinated by it.

He read voraciously but had no other hobbies or interests or friends and spent his days in an armchair reading, smoking and drinking. I would stay at boarding school over 'home weekends' so as not to go home if he was staying with my mom. We didn't talk about much, had little in common and next to no history. I must have been 14 when he died in his sleep.

My French grandfather I can only recall meeting twice. The first: I must have been a young child and I remember playing cards with him and learning a fancy shuffling method. I've always enjoyed card games, which my dad and I always played when I went to visit on school holidays. I was maybe 15 when I saw my grandfather again, at an old age home in Zimbabwe. One of the few men in the home, all the old ladies vyed for his company. He was a charming gentleman. At this stage he had advanced lung cancer and he died a few months later. I remember his very strong French accent, which even decades in Zimbabwe had barely faded.

Both of my grandfathers were many years older than my grandmothers - certainly 10-14 years older. Both pairs were divorced before I was born. This was pretty revolutionary too. The Big D in those days!

My Zimbabwean grandmother, 'Gran' - my mom's mother - was the one I knew the best. In primary school I would often go to Zimbabwe during school holidays. I'd spend some time with her in Harare and the rest of the holiday on family friends' farm. She was in South Africa every few years. I remember her knitting toys for me, doting on her staffie dog, Jesse, and getting dressed so smartly to go to work. She always travelled with her make-up and lotions-and-potions in a square, hard bag. She called it "my face". She'd zip around in her sporty blue car.

Her partner of 35-odd years was an abusive, alcoholic swine who alienated her from family and friends over many years. When they retired they were often in South Africa but we rarely saw them. We certainly didn't want to see him and would sometimes get my gran to come and stay for a week. He would grudgingly release her.

She was a busy body, rarely sitting down for half an hour. Her life was dedicated to her partner to the exclusion of all else - his children, grandchildren and family in favour of her family; him above everyone else. By the time they retired she had few friends and no outside interests except for tending to him and having too many G & Ts. He had a heart attack and died. She came to live with my uncle. She had stopped living when he died and a few months later she too passed. She must have been in her early 70's - about 10 years ago.

My French grandmother. She lived in Paris and, as a child, I was forced to write to her. I say forced because my mom would make me write letters in response to her and also birthday and christmas cards. Although my mom's motivations were sound, I hated it because I didn't know this person I had to write to. She came out to South Africa every few years but I never had a connection with her. I was still a child.

In the years before she retired I do remember her being very dynamic. She did courses - particularly in art history - and would travel to super destinations regularly. I saw her very much as a jetsetter. In 1998 I spent a few days with her in Paris. She took me to some incredible places - including Monet's home and gardens in Giverny. I was very impressed that she walked as fast as me, whipping me around the city. It was also interesting to note our similarities, despite having spent almost no time together, ever. There are many traits that I have, similar to her, which my dad doesn't present.

When I saw her in Paris in 2005, a few months before she moved to South Africa, she had changed a lot. Although still very functional, I realised that her mental faculties were not what they used to be. Probably as a result of the early stages of Alzheimers and also, I think, lack of use. My dad had asked her a few years ago what her plans had been for her retirement. She had planned to do nothing; and that's what she did. Few friends and only occasional lunch arrangements, no hobbies, little reading and no interests.

Her days were filled with time-wasting activities. An hour for breakfast, an age to tidy up, a few hours to cook her lunch-time meal, daily visit to the shops to buy bread or a fruit and this and that, watching a programme or two on television and an early night. Every day. Gone was that dynamic woman who would study and travel. When she retired, everything stopped.

And so she moved to South Africa where the same routines continued in her townhouse, a few kilometres from my dad's place. No friends, no interests, no hobbies and a steady decline. A few weeks before her 80th birthday - in August 2009 - she was nearly dead. My dad went to visit and found her in a near comatose state and managed to get her into a nearby care facility. She improved a lot under their care but was never well enough to live outside of 24-hour care and supervision. Although she did recognise us, she'd lapse into French (her English had always been perfect) and mostly nonsense talk.

She had barely been with this world for the last year and spending every day sitting in a chair, dozing and barely functional is no way to live. Her passing is a release - and relief.

With Mamie's passing a chapter on a whole generation of my family is now closed. I can't even really look back at any of my grandparents with much feeling or fondness because I didn't really know them.

 My mom's childhood was spent with cousins and aunts and her grandmother (my great grandmother was alive until I was a late-teen; but I also barely knew her). I have had little of this. I grew up as many children are growing up now and their lives will also be empty of grandparents to whom they have no connection or obligation other than blood ties. They're real for the parents, but not the children.

'Tis the way of the world now, sadly.