I never knew my real grandparents. It has been a source of sorrow to me all my life.
My Turner grandparents were both dead before I was born. My mum lost her mother when she was 14 and her father died 4 years before I was born so my brothers had memories of him - but not me.
My dad lost his mother when he was 8 and his father a year later. It was a tragic, harrowing story of 5 orphaned little boys separated because they were orphaned but it left me with the nearest thing I had to grandparents - my foster-grandparents. It wasn't quite the same, though, they were kind enough to me but - distant.
When I was about 7, I "invented" a grampa. I used to tell real "whoppers" about this old man who varied between the ages of 85 and 110 and was sometimes Grampa Turner but also sometimes Grampa Sleddon. Sometimes he lived with us (God knows where he slept - we only had 3 bedrooms) and sometimes he lived in Australia, or London. I outgrew the fantasy grandparent within a year or two but I always envied other kids who talked about their grandmas and granddads.
I try to be a good grandparent to both my grandchildren. I don't see so much of my grandson, these days, as he's nearly 23 and busy with his own life but he knows I am always here for him, proud of him and caring about him. My granddaughter lives with me and I adore her, but no more than I adore her cousin.
It's a privilege to be a grandparent.
