My only sibling, my sister, died two years ago from ovarian cancer.
She was just fifty six years of age.
This means I am the only person left alive in our direct family.
She was the last link to memories of our childhood, our Grandparents who raised us and their oddities in life. (Grandad insisted on listening to two radios at once day and night!?)
We were an unwelcome surprise forced upon my Grandmother and she didn't hide that fact.
Fortunately our Grandfather adored us.
Plus my sister and I did not get on at all. She was however the only link to our past.
Our absent parents, the problems and the joys.
Fond memories of bedtime stories from Grandad and endless summers catching giant bees and chasing butterflies in my grandparents large back garden. Sitting up a apple tree for hours just dreaming.
On the other hand my childhood held many emotional hardships and a coldness from my Grandmother that ran deep.
Do any of the Gransnetters feel sad because they are the only one left alive who remembers their closest relatives?
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