Last year (2020) on the 2nd of April, I lost my wonderful Nan. I’ve had a hole in my heart and a shadow over me since. I’m not the same person I was last year.
A year ago the UK was locked down for the first time. The Covid-19 pandemic was well and truly a part of everyone’s lives. We were getting used to a new normal and then my beautiful Nan passed away and my family couldn’t do the one thing we always needed to do in times of crisis… be together.
In the past when we’ve had a major loss to our family, the first thing my family has done is bundle around each other’s houses, cuddle, drink, tea and grieve together. We couldn’t do that this time though. This time we not only had to grieve the matriarch of our fab 5, but we also had to do it separately, without each other for comfort. I broke.
The morning my Nan left us I received a video call from my Mum to tell me, and before she even said anything I KNEW what had happened. I’d had a very sleepless night the night before, I could feel something was wrong and the squirrels in the back of my mind were getting restless. I seem to have a sixth sense for these things, I’ve had similar experiences when others we loved had died. I told her she didn’t need to say it, I already knew, but she did it anyway. She needed to say it for her sake. I tried to hold back, one thing I’ve always been good at is masking, but I couldn’t, not this time. I let the tears out a little. Let my Mum see that I was hurting. Then when we hung up I went to my husband and told him. A wave hit me and I ended up cradled in my husband’s arms, sobbing and wailing in pain. It was like no other pain I had experienced before. My heart had broken. My chest hurt, the pain was radiating, I felt heavy, my mind was lost and I felt like every ounce of water in my body poured from my eyes. A piece of me was gone, I felt it leave me in the gush of tears and the pain searing through my body. A piece of me was torn away.
I’ve been a shadow of myself since. Getting lost in sadness, letting my mind wander, laughter seems hollow sometimes, I struggle to enjoy a lot of things. Yes, the grey dog of depression is watching me. I feel I need to do activities that connect me to her. When it’s warm I’m drawn to my garden. She loved gardening, she always had such beautiful gardens, she was always a bit heavy-handed with everything else but her gardens were a sight to be seen, she was so proud of them. Always walking me around them, showing me her latest blooms, and feeding me vegetables from her plot.
She did a lot for us as we grew up. She raised my Mum and my Aunt. She’s helped us move countless times, helped us escape abusive relationships. Taught me to line dance, to cook, to garden. Helped me fight alcohol dependence and drug use, helped me through depression and self-harm, saved me when I’ve been in debt. Helped me through illness and hangovers (TCP, Paracetamol, flat lemonade, Pepto-bismal, saltwater, Dettol… all her cures of choice!). She gave me a second home and a safe place to turn to when I felt I couldn’t go home. She’s saved my life countless times without even realising it, just by having an open-door policy for me. She put my whole household up for weeks (me, Hubbly and our 3 kids) and took care of us when we lost nearly everything we had in a house fire. We owe her so much. I loved her more than you could imagine. Sometimes I loved her more than I loved my Mum. She was my hero, she was a part of me.
I have so many great memories of her.
I used to love climbing out onto the flat roof of her kitchen and laying there on a blanket, reading and listening to the radio while I watched her tend her garden.
I used to raid her fridge, always looking for cauliflower cheese, sausages, or blackberry and apple pie. I knew where her secret chocolate tin was in the cupboards too!
I used to stay up late on her PC talking to friends on MSN, wrapped in one of her blankets.
We’d watch silly films and some really good TV shows together.
She never let me live down the time H came to stay with me at hers and we spilt red wine on her rug and how it always had a pink stain after that.
When I was in the upper school she’d let me and my neighbour leave our bikes in the garden and walk the rest of the way so we didn’t have to worry about them getting vandalised at school, sometimes we were early enough for breakfast!
We’d attend line dance classes and discos. One night, on the way to a disco it was snowing quite heavily and the speedometer broke in her old Fiat Tipo! We had to guess our speed the whole way there and back.
We LOVED listening to music and dancing around together. I’d always tease her about her crush on Terry Wogan whenever we listened to Radio 2.
We liked going into Oxford shopping together and I remember going shopping with her to find a dress for the Captain’s ball on the QE2.
We went on days out to do touristy bits in London. We’d go to fetes and fayres and canal boat days.
We’d go on family holidays together. I remember a caravan holiday in Llanberis when we were sharing a small twin room, she was cold so I told her if she farted it’d warm her up. We laughed so hard that our eyes watered!
She’d always sigh and exclaim at me whenever I said something rude, or crude, or swore!
I always hoped that she’d see my boys grow up and have similar memories with them. Unfortunately, she was cursed with Dementia, every time she had to undergo anaesthetic it would get worse. The last time I saw her she barely remembered me. She was frail, thin, her skin was fragile, she was bruised, unkempt and easily agitated. It was like talking to a toddler. She would never have wanted to be that way. She was always so well-groomed and presentable, even in her garden scruffs! She would have hated what she had become. To me, she was still young. The days before her coma she was attending Jazzercize, helping friends and family, always busy, she always had to be doing something, she couldn’t sit still for long.
I miss her. For me, it’s still a fresh wound and I will grieve for her for the rest of my life. Some days will be easier than others and that’s okay. The grief and sense of loss won’t go away. My memories will keep her with me and I will learn to bear this pain. My heart will heal but will be forever scarred. The shadow will lessen and the grey dog of depression will go away again.
I’ll be okay, but for now it’s okay that I’m not okay.
Take care,
The Anxious (grieving) Pixie
xxxxx
The Anxious Pixie 