#my sister just got a framed image really similar to this from my grandma's house!

[biscuits-on-the-floor]

Loss

This photo of me and my grandad is one of my most treasured possessions. I have always loved it and after he died it became even more precious to me. I love that it has captured a moment between us and although I don’t actually remember this moment it seems to capture all that I felt about my grandad my whole life. My admiration for him, my love for him. I love the jumper he wears, so comforting to me as all of his jumpers looked similar to this. I love the Christmas hat he’s wearing, it brings back thousands of memories of Christmases spent with him and the way he would always cheers and say “Happy Easter” instead of “Happy Christmas” joking around as he always did, and how it has remained a family tradition to do this. 

Recently I have been trying to find a frame to put the photo in, it had been attached to a clip style photo holder from an Aquarium I went to in Hastings when I took my Young Carers group on a week’s holiday in 2009. After he died I realised how unsuitable the holder was and took it out, and since then the photo has been perched on my dressing table. I finally got round to buying a frame for the photo and Richie carefully created a mount, as the photo is an unusual size and doesn’t fit standard mounts. But it doesn’t look right and I need to start the search for a new frame. I doubt I will ever find one as deserving or special as the object it holds inside.

I have reached a place in my grief where I can now remember my grandad without feeling pain. I can smile and find comfort in memories. I still miss him, and at every family occasion his absence is still felt. 

Grandad moved into our family home when I was 11 and that meant that I had a closer bond with him than perhaps many people get to have with their grandparents. For a number of years before he died I literally couldn’t bear to think about the time when we would actually lose him. The older he got the more the thought pushed its way into my brain. I couldn’t bear to think of family life without him in it, of my parents’ house without him in it. How strange and awful it would feel to visit when he was gone. When the time came for his departure no matter how much I thought I had prepared myself it was still awful. We were all home to celebrate Easter when he became unwell. I got a vomiting bug and whilst lying in bed upstairs ill, I knew he was lying in his bed downstairs, dying. It was torture to not be able to be with him. 

When I recovered I went to his room and faced the awful image of someone departing the world. It was Grandad but he didn’t look like him, he was half still in this world, half already in the next. I’ll never be able to erase that image from my brain. I held his hand, his big shovel of a hand which I had joked with him millions of times about it being rhino skinned and fireproof, as he could pick up burning hot plates without flinching. His hand that he used to put on my neck when it was freezing cold after coming back from walking the dog whilst I ate my breakfast and he laughed gleefully as I screamed. Hands that I had watched shuffle a pack of cards ready for many games of Rummy which we had played for hours on end throughout my childhood, teen years and up until I left home for University. Holding his hand I said my goodbye in my head as best as I could, as it just didn’t seem real that I was saying goodbye forever. I hoped that he could feel my hand holding his, hoped that he could sense us all in the room with him and feel our love. I hoped that it gave him comfort. I hoped that he wasn’t in pain. And even though I’m unsure that the afterlife exists, I hoped that he could see my Nana and after all these years he could be with her again.

So many feelings, thoughts and memories of that awful week. At that point in my life I had experienced losses: death of pets, death of my Nana and my Grandma, ceasing of friendships, ending of relationships. But it was at that point, maybe because I was an adult instead of a child, I’m not sure, but it was at that point that loss and grief crept into me and became a more embodied experience. And even though Granddad was old and had lived a long life, it was still incredibly painful to lose him.

I am now experiencing a new and more shocking pain and loss. When someone old dies and has lived a long and happy life it is hard for those they leave behind but we can take comfort from knowing they had lived a good life. But when someone’s life is cut short too soon, there are no words for the pain.

I have really struggled to know how to write, or indeed if I should write about what has happened, as something too important and awful has taken place and my thoughts and feelings are insignificant in comparison. And my loss is nothing compared to the loss others are experiencing right now. But I feel that I couldn’t continue to write this blog without acknowledging the terrible darkness that has settled over my life, and I had to acknowledge that someone special has left this world. And maybe this is my own way of saying goodbye and writing is my only way of dealing with grief.  And whilst my words will never be able to touch on the tragedy and grief all I can do is share my feelings and hope I do justice to the wonderful person that has left us. 

When my sister was 16 she met Katy, they were performing in a local production of the musical The King and I. I remember being very young when she entered my life and thinking Katy was wonderful. So fun, cheerful and happy, she had such a positive energy. Ever since that time I can’t remember a family celebration or party that Katy wasn’t a part of. She was a hair dresser and had been doing my hair for me since I was about 13, up until I moved back to London for the second time in 2008. She did my hair for me on one of the most special days of my life, my wedding day. She was there for birthday celebrations, Easter Egg hunts, Boxing Days, all of our weddings. As a family we loved her and she felt like a part of our family. 

Katy died three weeks ago in a car crash. She died at the scene in such an utter, senseless tragedy. Her two children who were also in the car have been recovering in hospital and mercifully her daughter who was in a critical condition fighting for her life is now in recovery. 

Even as I write this now I still struggle to believe its real. I cannot make sense of what has happened. Of the utter devastation of this event for her children, her family and all of us who knew and loved her. The unbelievable tragedy for her, that her life is over. I cannot make sense of how someone can just be gone. So suddenly. so awfully.

The loss of my grandad was awful but this, this shocking end of a life too short is too much to bear. The grief bites chunks out of me, leaving gaping holes so that I don’t know what parts of me are left.

When I moved away I saw less and less of Katy, something that I now deeply regret. I didn’t know how much she really meant to me until now. She was always there, a part of my life since I was a child and I absolutely took it for granted. I didn’t make the effort I should have done to keep in touch. At Christmas I had intended to suggest meeting up as we had done the year before, but the week at my parents’ flew by and before I knew it I was back home and I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t even contacted her to make the suggestion. I cannot shake the remorse I feel for that now. Only a few weeks later and I will never get the chance to meet up with her again, and she never knew that I was thinking of her and wanting to see her. 

Katy was one of those special people who no matter how hard things were for her – and she had some truly awful times in her life – she always had a smile and a hug for someone in need of comfort. After a long term relationship of mine broke down and I was left heart broken she provided comfort and most importantly managed to make me laugh.

At my Grandad’s 90th party old family history was too much to deal with and I got upset and left; it was Katy who came running out down the street after me and gave me a hug and encouraged me to stay. I will never forget it. 

And when my Grandad died, Katy sent me a message saying how sorry she was and that she hoped I was okay. Always so thoughtful, always reaching out to others.

And what has now formed the first significant regret in my life, I never let her know how much I appreciated her acts of kindness and I did not do enough to repay that kindness. She will never know how special she was to me and the positive impact she had on my life. There is now a black blanket of regret wrapped around my heart.

The last three weeks have been a blur of shock and grief and replaying of the horrendous moment when my mum told me what had happened.  And waves of nausea as I think of her children and how they have lost their mummy. There are simply no words to describe the pain of thinking about their new reality.

I can’t really find any way of finishing this post. There’s no conclusion or meaning. Right now there is just grief and the inability to process such a pointless and cruel end to a wonderful person’s life. Next week will be Katy’s funeral where we will all gather together to say goodbye to her. My only hope for the day is that she can hear our words of love. 

I will share the words I wrote to Katy’s sister the week after she died. Raw words from my grieving heart.

“Although Katy was Leisa’s friend she became a friend to us all and we all considered her a part of our family as you know. Having known Katy since I was 13 I grew up with her cheerful energy and always loved how she could brighten any mood. I was drawn to her like a sunflower to the sun. I looked forward to and relished every visit or family occasion or girly weekend I shared with her. She was so funny and I loved how much she made my grandad laugh, he adored her.

I was so lucky to grow through my teens and into early adulthood with her positive presence. She was always listening, sympathetic and comforting.

I got to witness her find the ultimate happiness in the birth of her children and later share in that joy with her as I became a mother myself. And although I saw her less when I moved away and started my own family I still looked forward to a lifetime of having her a part of my life, and I cannot comprehend or bear the pain of knowing that I will not get to see her again.

I feel so lucky that I got to experience the wonderful joy it was to know Katy and utterly devastated that I’ll never get to hug her, giggle with her or chat about life or utter nonsense with her again.

She was the brightest light and the cheeriest voice in any room. How dark and awfully silent the world is now she’s gone.”

To Grandad and Katy, I hope you are both somewhere laughing together again.

(Grandad’s 90th Birthday Party. Katy and Grandad in the middle)