My Gran is a light that shines across a whole world of darkness. For her, life seems to be a never ending battle against affliction. She’s lost a son, a home, a husband and a daughter. She has a continuous weight of pain on her already bruised shoulders. Despite this constant marathon of a life she manages to find a monstrous amount of strength and continues to rise every morning with a smile that could make the devil feel warm inside. This woman is astonishing.

Just by looking at the challenges she was faced with before my birth is a large indication that her bravery is as unlimited as the air we breathe. The first child my Gran gave birth to was a beautiful boy named David. Sadly, he was about nine months old when he passed away. In the sixteen years I have known my Gran, this is the only thing I know about David. I have never been told how he died and my urge to ask questions is settled by the fear of digging up old pains. I’ve never experienced such a serious loss before but just the thought alone of ever losing my little brother makes my stomach tighten like a belt and sends the importance of other problems like school work, boys and friends on a sprint. Anybody who can overcome something like that is a person I already have a great amount of respect for. My Gran’s dreadful history did not come to a hault at that. One Christmas morning – with no warning -my Gran’s husband left the family home and any chance of him being a father was abandoned with the first inconsiderate step out the door. Despite this, my Gran continued to put every inch of strength she had into being a great parent and working as hard as she could looking after her patients as a district nurse. Not only does she have the responsibility of bringing up three children on her own, but to add to this she works every day caring for other people who need it. The support she is able to give others - even when she is dealing with a few hurdles herself, is something that I cannot give enough appreciation for. It is truly outstanding that somebody can be so kind when the world around them has been nothing but cruel.

My Mum was unable to deal with things as well as my Gran. If my Gran is Superman then my Mum is Kryptonite. My Mum’s choices are apocalyptic. The worst of these choices is probably her taste in men. The most recent being John – a small, bald, fat man who enjoys making my Mum’s self esteem even lower by using every tiny detail as a reason to use his fists and his feet. Within a couple of months of being in a relationship with him, she was pregnant. I hoped the pregnancy would act as a safety net, but it only increased the violence. It really isn’t something that can be described. Lying in bed and hearing the scream of your own Mother’s pain echoing through every room of the house. Too scared to sleep. Too scared to stay awake. Clenching at every noise. Questioning every silence. Praying for the courage to stand up to this demon. Knowing there’s nothing you can do. Helplessness was second nature and fear was a sixth sense.

A big weight was lifted when the nine months were complete and I had a beautiful brother named Sean. I thought maybe with a baby around the house the violence would stop, but once again I was proved wrong. The tiniest things would set John on a tantrum. His actions weren’t curbed when my brother was in the room, and he had no mercy if my brother began to cry. About a year later, my Mum delivered my little sister with broken ribs. For three years this went on. Three years of watching my own Mother be made to feel like an atom of dirt. I even attempted to fake having something wrong with my appendix in the hope that a hospital trip would settle the fighting for at least a couple of weeks. In the rare time I had alone with my Mum, I would beg her to leave John. She would watch the tears stream down my face as I presented my case and not even flinch.

Eventually, the relationship between me and my Mum deteriorated. Social Work no longer wanted me to live at home. My school attendance was slipping and my Mum and I no longer treated each other like family. I was sent to a foster home for a couple of weeks, then my Gran stepped in. She put every bit of effort she had into making sure I felt at home. I got a taxi to my school in Peebles every morning from Gorebridge and I undeservingly got to go away and stay at my friend’s every weekend. The really shocking thing is although my Gran was doing everything she could to make me happy – I resented her for it.

I had no appreciation for anything. I was too busy missing my old life to take a moment to praise my Gran for her remarkable courage. I was oblivious to how lucky I was to have somebody like her in my life; all I wanted was to go back home so my Mum wasn’t alone with the sadness bearing fiend. The inconsideration I had was shockingly shameful. I was skipping classes at school and misbehaving a lot. I tried to run away when I was visiting Peebles one weekend as I so desperately didn’t want to return to my Gran’s house. I just added to the already hectic life that my Gran had to put up with. I’d give anything to go back to that and appreciate how much I had, but instead I foolishly pinned all my happiness on the hope that one day I could return back to my broken home in Peebles.

That hope was tarnished the day before the summer holidays. As I sat on the cold leather couch in my Gran’s living room, I began to get even colder as the aching words spilled out of my Gran’s mouth. My Mum was in hospital due to a drug overdose and she was extremely lucky to be alive. That was the moment everything changed. I would be staying with my Gran permanently. My Mum had the option to join me and my siblings at my Gran’s residence but sadly a different path was more appealing to her – a life with John. The previous months that had felt like torture to me would now become glittering memories filled with innocence and peace. I sulked. I suffered. I surrendered.

My Gran brought me back up from what seemed an inevitable journey to the bottom of the heap. The sad truth is that the only thing we can really control in this world is how we deal with things, and that can really make a difference. Ambrosse Redmore once said “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.” This deeply resembles my Gran and her ability to overcome anything with grace and bravery. An ability that I will spend the rest of my life trying to mirror and for the days I feel like I can’t, I have her there to bring me back up.