17 June
By Jason Fagan
I’ve rarely talked about my maternal grandmother to anyone. She never wanted to be called in the usual way, granny or the like, we were told in no uncertain terms that we must address her as “JoJo”, a play on her name Josephine.
Early memories are of a proud and cold woman, who was very Victorian in her attitudes and discipline. Rarely were signs of affection ever shown, cuddles and kisses were far and few between. With that said, she was always keen to broaden our knowledge and experiences in the world, but when you are young you seldom see the positive aspects of this.
Sadly it was not until her last months on earth, after breast cancer returned, that I finally got to know the real woman. One of the few things in my life that I treasure, is that with my grandfather we looked after her until her passing sharing stories and regrets.
Unfortunately I only remember meeting my paternal grandmother once and even that is hazy. Time can be a cruel facet in life, even more so once it has passed.
