They were the last people I expected to see in the middle of a trauma-induced breakdown, suffering through severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and agonising flashbacks of my life. I tried to cope by focusing on the people I knew loved me: my grown-up daughter, my family, my friends. And there into my hallucinating brain appeared two people I was not expecting to see, not least because they’d died more than 30 years before: my grandmothers.
Emma was a doughty East End matriarch, a devout Catholic, who, as bombs fell, scrubbed the doorstep of her council house – later condemned as a slum – lest her neighbours thought she was slacking. Rose lived out in the countryside in Essex, providing for her family during the war by raising chickens and skinning rabbits. I loved my grandmothers, of course, but rarely thought much about them. I knew they wanted the best for me, but what did their lives have to do with mine as the high-flying, and highly-paid, editor of glossy magazines? Quite a lot it turns out.
In 1992, my first husband, John Merritt, died, and just six years later, in 1998, my eldest daughter, Ellie, was killed by a rare form of blood cancer. I was pregnant at the time of John’s death and suffered PTSD but had no choice but to carry on working, including during Ellie’s subsequent diagnosis and ultimately unsuccessful treatment at Great Ormond Street Hospital.
My surviving daughter, Hope, was looked after by wonderful nannies but life was hard as a single parent. I had no option of flexible hours and working from home was unheard of at that time. But I had to carry on.
Despite these challenges, my career flourished over the following decade and I was twice named Editor of the Year and ran some of the most famous magazines in the world, including Cosmopolitan and Esquire as well as Good Housekeeping, which I turned into the biggest-selling glossy in Britain. At the same time, Hope had grown into a confident and capable young woman. I was riding high.
Then, in 2016, I was involved in a freak car accident, caused by someone attempting to take their own life by running in front of a lorry travelling at 70mph, which, in turn, hit my car. I was physically unhurt, but the crash triggered a recurrence of the PTSD I had suffered since the deaths of my first husband and eldest child in the 90s.
Within just 365 days of the lorry jack-knifing across the road and smashing into my car I was involved in an acrimonious divorce, made redundant from the job I loved, made homeless twice and was even arrested following accusations from my husband when I accused him of cheating. But worst of all was the recurrence and intensification of the PTSD symptoms.
In order to cope, I was prescribed therapy, antidepressants and other drugs as well as EMDR [Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing], a practice developed for returning military traumatised by the horrors of war.
Gradually, in a process that took years, not weeks or months, I rebuilt my life with a combination not only of these medical and psychotherapeutic supports, but also the suggestion of focusing on those who loved me unconditionally that began to replace the horrific flashbacks to hospitals and death-beds with gentle and loving memories of my grandmothers.
I returned to the simpler and more meaningful values with which I had been raised, that I had learned from my grandparents. In the place of champagne receptions and the Front Row at London Fashion Week, I discovered cooking from scratch and getting involved with my local community by volunteering.
The final piece of the jigsaw came however, when – in 2023 – my daughter Hope told me she was pregnant.
Cora was born in September last year, and, well, besotted doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about her. I knew I would love her on sight; what I hadn’t bargained for was the strong and immediate sense of what my role was to be now. Being a mum is hard, even if you have a supportive and committed partner as Hope does. But being a grandparent is more specific than just a diffuse feeling of love.
Researchers into evolutionary theory are now coming round to the view that grandmothering has been even more important to human development than the traditional male hunter role. The healthy lifespan that many humans – and some whales but not apparently other mammals – enjoy after menopause means that grandmothers can help raise their children’s offspring. This has a protective effect on human infants, allowing them to take longer to reach maturity, which in turn has led to the development of our complex cultures and civilisation.
The importance of grandparents – particularly grandmothers – has been overlooked for centuries, derided even. We all know the stereotype of the “white-haired old granny”. Who would put the existence of all civilisation down to her? But, even today, grandparental influence remains vitally important. A 2023 study [by SunLife insurers] found that more than half (53 per cent) of grandparents in Britain are providing some form of childcare – essential in a country with some of the most expensive childcare in the world. Together, we are saving families an estimated £96 billion in nursery and childcare fees.
Cora is now nine months old and I feel privileged to look after her one day a week. It is not a chore – quite the opposite. I adore every moment of our time together. For all the usual grandmotherly reasons and because she is a completely enchanting child – well, I would say that, wouldn’t I? But also because caring for her is allowing me to recreate moments I missed out on.
I had no choice but to go back to a full-time job when her mother was just 18 weeks old and even that was generous by the standards of the day. Worse, I had to carry on working while Ellie was treated in hospital and Hope had to go to live with her grandmother, my own mother, which broke my heart. I would have gladly cut myself in two to be with both of my children if only I could.
Grief prevented me from being the mother I wanted to be 30 years ago and I am so grateful to Cora’s parents for allowing me to put that right. But I also know my role – and that of her other grandmother – are also important in their own right. That one day, it will occur to Cora – hopefully not in extremis, as I experienced – that we are two more people in her life absolutely rock-solidly there for her.
Society is finally waking up to an age-old evolutionary truth that grannies (and granddads) are not just dispensers of fruit cake and stories about the olden days but the bedrock upon which families are built and, as I discovered, a vital component of mental resilience.
Perfect Bound is published by Mudlark on 18 July 2024 and available to pre-order now