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Every year just before Christmas I feel a bit low - it is, I think due to the death of my grandmother just before Christmas back in 1957 - we had lived with my father's parents for about 5 years, and I had spent a lot of time with my grandmother as my mother had my two younger siblings and the house to run.
She died from the complications of diabetes, untreated for the most part, as the family simply did not understand what she should eat, or drink.
I did not understand that she had died, as she had been in and out of hospital all the time we'd been living there, so I assumed that she would be coming back. I was only six years old at the time, so it isn't all that surprising. It was not for some years that I happened to be in the room when my father explained to someone what had happened, and I understood the circumstances.
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