Mr P. and I were walking through WH Smiths the other day and there, on the stationery display, was a small selection of Easter cards. Every year without fail, my Nan would send me one: a quaint tradition that even for the most dedicated of Christians had long since lapsed.
Aside from her strong faith, which I know she had, I always admired her strong practical resolve to do her own thing. She was so independent-minded. Even aged well into her eighties, she would still walk down to Littlehampton sea-front and do a couple of shifts a week at the Windmill Theatre – either manning the box-office or, more hilariously, acting as usher in the cinema.
The thought of that used to really make me laugh. She was a tiny little thing with tight white curls and watery blue eyes. I remember going to stay with her and listening to her complain about the ‘trendy’ outfit they were making her wear - (it really wasn’t ... it was nylon and floral) – and how much she’d enjoyed the Jean-Claude Van Damme film that she’d seen three times that week. She really was a character.
Anyway, my convoluted point is that we all approach life and its challenges in our own unique way. People have been very complimentary in saying how positive I’m being in my approach to my treatment but I guess, with feisty role models like my Nan and my Dad, I’m not sure I could really be any different!
And I wouldn’t want to be either. After all, to steal an adage from a childhood poster I once had: “To dream of the person you would like to be, is to waste the person you are ... ”