Lizzie

We visited Bert's Aunt this afternoon. I'd always thought that, when this was all over, we'd be visiting Lizzie in a lovely care home where she'd live out her twilight years. But no. It seems that Covid and cancer mean that she will not be leaving the Robinson Memorial Hospital.  We spoke to her from outdoors through a window, slightly ajar. She couldn't seem to turn her head but appeared to acknowledge our presence by making hand gestures. Bert told her he wished he could hold her hand, but y'know, this old Covid. She turned her hand as if reaching out towards him. When we left her window he was close to tears. I don't think Lizzie will make it until March.

Before she went into hospital she was very fractious. No doubt, from the fear, anxiety and pain she was suffering. On one of the days Bert was looking after her she told him that he had no more sense than when he was six-years-old and that it was time he grew up. When he told me that I thought it was hilarious. Lizzie used to keep those sort of things to herself but by the time one is ninety years old, why not tell it like one sees it? Lucky for Bert, I like him being in touch with his inner child.

Because it was such a lovely day we went home by a scenic route, past Craig's Wood and the Moss where Bert's father used to cut turf and where we'd go help him bring it home. Lizzie was so often involved in that. Those were such carefree days, days when we were younger, so much younger than today.

Guess that's life.

Photo taken by me in 1988. Bert was 29, Lizzie was 57.