Gran Tosses Out Grandson and His Wife, Chooses to Live Alone at 80 – Family Plots to Move In, But Gran Has Other Plans

Grandmother cast out her grandson and his wife and resolved, at eighty years old, to live alone.

Our Gran is eighty years old. Just last week, she shooed my elder brother William and his wife Alice straight out the front door. Since then, shes become silent as a field at dawnif I call to say well be popping by, she hangs up faster than a blink. She wont open the door for anyone, not even to take in the milk or the post.

The reason why William moved to a rented bedsit somewhere in Croydon, he refuses to share. If Im honest, I wasnt shocked when Gran sent him packing; Williams always been reckless and a bit greedy, the sort whod spend his last pound on takeaways.

Once Gran started living alone and there was suddenly space in her tidy little flat in Richmond, all the relatives tumbled together for a family councilwithout Gran, of course. There was only one real point on the agenda, but it weighed heavily: how on earth would she cope, all by herself, at such a venerable age?

Dads sister Margaret was quite sure her own daughter, a thirty-year-old jobless lass named Grace, could move in to look after Gran. Everyone knew Graces main talents were losing umbrellas and not noticing dust on the mantel.

Dads second sister Jean, always the thrifty one, suggested finding a snug studio flat for Gran, telling everyone itd save money:
The young folks are moving in. Hows she supposed to afford rent on a whole three-bedroom?

Uncle Peter put his hand up with an eager grin, proposing that Gran move in with him, meanwhile letting his son take her flat. Made good sense, perhapseighty is a lonesome age for independence. Best for young folk to bear their own weight. All these ideas, dressed as loving concern for Gran, were whispered about in earnest.

I just worry for Mother. This way shell be well cared for! Uncle Peter declared, rather loudly.

Gran had already housed one of his sons previously, and now he wanted another. Dad suggested a wild idea: maybe let Gran decide how to live? But all the aunties huffed and shook their heads.

The bossiest aunt, Margaret, wore everyone down, so the family agreed: Grace would be Grans new helper. Bags packed, Grace was cheerfully instructed to inform Gran of the familys decision. But Gran, who saw through the scheme, banged the receiver down.

Grace trundled over to Grans. Thoughts of redecorating drifted through her mind as she walked past rows of privet hedges. Alas, Gran wouldnt even let her in the door. But there, sitting stubbornly upon the doormat, was a present a jar of her own spiced tomatoes.

How can she live all on her own? Grace huffed, vexed. She told me shes never truly lived in her eighty years, and suddenly now she wants to? Who knows how things will go? What if she gets poorly? Solitude is dangerous!

Gran doesnt care a fig for anyone! No conscience! Shes lived with parents, with Grandpa, with children and grandchildren, the lot. Now at last she wants a peaceful life, alone, in a spacious flat in Richmond. Its scandalous. High time to make room for the next generation, isnt it?

Only Dad kept steady sense. Moving Gran didnt sit right with him. He thought up a plan. Its true, you cant leave Gran entirely to herself at that age. The sisters had a point: anything might happen. None of the children had a key to Grans flatshed changed all the locks the morning after chasing William out. At that age, every day is like a coin tossed in the air.

With Mums approval, Dad installed a camera in Grans hallway. Now any concerned relative could glance, via app, and observe Gran tootling by, umbrella in hand. Gran, for her part, pulled faces for the camera: silly, stern, or fiendish.

She insisted on paying her own billsafter all, she racked up fewer charges living alone. She refused any offers of help, so long as everyone left her in peace. And so, the miracle of modern technology granted Gran the perfect shield from uninvited callers.

Alls well that ends well. Gran wont let a soul past her threshold, not even for a chat over tea and scones. Yesterday I called round, and found on the stairwell a jar of home-made jamher latest peace offering. Evidently, Gran still fears losing her hard-won freedom. I wish she might let herself find calm enough to open her door again to guests, or at least family.