At first I was devastated believing I would hardly ever see him. But love and Ryanair have found a way.   I set off each month to maintain our relationship and it’s always wonderful to see each other. As soon as I arrive, he talks non-stop and rushes from room to room, so excited to see me.

 

We met in a flat in London last year. It was spring and it was love at first sight. At least for me. In the beginning, he didn’t say or do anything to show whether it was the same for him.  I would smile at him and hoped he felt the same way; when I walked into the room his head would barely turn. And then one day, when I held his stare for too long, the corners of his mouth turned up and he let slip a grin which beamed tenderness and warmth. He knew who I was and our feelings were mutual.

 

I’d been over the top I know, but when an older woman meets a younger man who reminds her of the time long ago when her own kids were young she does stupid things. The clothes, the presents; besides it was all worth it to hold his hand in mine or have him fall asleep in my arms.

 

In Sweden he is still a man of few words and to be honest his English is terrible even though he lived in London for a year. And my Swedish is non existent. But we get by, pointing and making the right noises. We point at things  and sing and dance and kiss and cuddle. Besides we don’t need mere words as it’s true what they say - Love transcends language.

 

We have wonderful meals together, usually at his home. He isn’t good company after about 7pm so we tend to eat early but as we look into each other’s eyes he stuffs huge spoonfuls of food into his mouth and I don’t say anything. He doesn’t seem to care as he enjoys his food so much, and that makes me happy. Then, when he’s emptied his plate completely, he asks loudly for some of my food too. Of course I give him what he wants. I can’t resist him. I’m putty in his hands.  

 

We love spending an (early) evening together.  We pass the time fooling around, other times we sit together cuddled close and turn the pages of a favourite book. Sometimes he wants to show me his fast cars, sometimes we’ll splash about in his bath, And then as his eyes grow heavy I know all he wants is a final drink before bed.

 

For all his bad habits and the language differences and the distance and the age (there’s over 60 years between us), he makes me feel young again and I can’t help but love him.

 

After all, he is my grandson.