When I got to my favourite restaurant I saw many full tables and wondered where I would sit. I couldn’t see any free downstairs so I went upstairs and found a table next to the window.

I remember sitting there looking through the window framed in purple wisteria. The colourful garden and the comings and goings of the customers helped pass the time as I waited for my father to join me.

He arrived about 10 minutes after I had and when I saw his face I knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. I’ll never forget what he said, “Hello darling. Grandma has taken ill quite suddenly and is in the hospital. We really need to go now to make it in time.”

I was too shocked to say anything. My thoughts raced around as my father left a £20 note on the table to cover the glass of water and the waiter’s time. I walked to the car in a blurry stupor and arrived at the hospital in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

When we arrived at her room we were greeted by a nurse who gently told us that we were too late. We were let into the bright little room and my Grandma looked as if she was sleeping. What hurt the most were not her cold hands or ashen face, it was that I didn’t get to say goodbye.

My fondest memories with my Grandma were at her wisteria covered cottage. Her meals were made with love and we used to have a picnic every weekend under a tree in her wonderful garden. So many flowers and plants grew there. When I was little I used to ask Grandma what they were called. She didn’t know any of the names of the plants, flowers or even the trees, so we played games making up wonderfully descriptive or silly names.

The one name she knew was wisteria.