We have the same hands, and take a modest pride in the long fingers and elegantly shaped nails the women of our family share. You feel at your best when you have your nails painted and every once in a while, I’ll receive a photo from the care home of you in your chair, freshly permed hair backlit, long beads and rosary in position. A hand turned to the camera, pink nails shining like your smile.
Given everything you have suffered through in life, and the many hard losses you have endured, it may seem shallow to focus on the joy you find in the act of dressing up. But it doesn’t feel that way to me, Gran. The way you live is a celebration of the simple pleasures, of the right you have to treat yourself, to consider yourself worthy of some shimmer, some style.
Those photos send a beautiful statement about your resilience and your unwillingness to give up the personal habits that make you who you are. They are reminders that you are a woman who, despite current limitations, will express herself as she pleases, for her own pleasure. A woman who can take a few minutes to do something kind for herself.
You loved when my sister and I used to come to your flat with our shopping bags, showing off whatever daft new sequined top or backless dress we had bought in town.
You celebrated us through our messy teenage years as we figured out who we wanted to be, who we wanted to be with, how we wanted to live. We must have looked a state at times, with poorly dyed hair and dodgy makeup, but you never let on. Partnering up, breaking down, going out with friends and staying in to study – you soaked it all in and spurred us on.
When you were young you didn’t have those chances to be flawed, free and changeable. You worked, you married, you raised your family, you kept your house, and you turned your attentions everywhere but on yourself.
It is easy to imagine feeling bitter, seeing how young women in Scotland live now. To grudge the opportunities you missed, and to wonder what might have been. Instead, you loved to see all the frivolous and carefree parts of our life, laughing as we shared our missteps, running your hands over our purchases approvingly, making them feel special to us.
We have not sat beside you in that way for over a year now. You have been in quarantine, have suffered with COVID, have had many falls, and you have been moved to a new care home without a choice in the matter. Your speech has worsened and your ability to read the books and magazines you love has lessened. We do not know how much you understand about the world outside the care home from one day to the next. And that is why these little expressions of selfhood and autonomy mean so much more than they would otherwise. They are a declaration that you will not surrender your joy in the face of the world’s cruelties.
And when I look at my hands, my fingertips, and compare them to those photos of your own, I am reminded of everything you have given me and everything we must celebrate when we see each other again. Your spirited embrace of the fun and the glamour in life has taught me a valuable lesson. By showing us the example of a woman with poise and dignity, a woman worth celebrating, you make it so much easier to believe the same about ourselves.