Tomorrow is the 3rd anniversary of my Nan’s death. It feels longer. It feels like she hasn’t been around forever.
I’ve always been a crier, and I’ve always been in tune with my emotions (sometimes too much), but since Nan passed I’ve developed a tougher exterior and hardly cry.
I did a lot of my mourning before she passed, as the cancer took hold of her and dragged her down so fast. It was shocking to see the effects on her body and her mind. It was scary watching her sitting there scared. It was hard seeing her make the decision to go nil by mouth – even though I totally supported and agreed with the decision. And then – sitting there by her bedside holding her hand, watching her as she slept. Her body wracked by spasms of pain, her mind running wild with dreams, her lungs struggling to breath, every now and then waking up and saying my name and slipping back into sleep.
By this stage she had moved home to rest on a hospital bed looking out into the bush as the horses in the paddock next door ran back and forth, the birds sang, and the wind blew, rattling the branches of the tall gum trees outside. It was here that she passed.
I don’t allow myself a lot of time to think of Nan. I guess I’m afraid to as I know deep down I miss her incredibly. But her photos are scattered around the house – on the fridge, on my bedside table, and so on. And I have some of her clothes and jewellery in my wardrobe, including her dressing gown I will dig out when winter sets in.
I miss you Nan.