Today is the anniversary of my Grandma’s death. I miss her all the time. I keep asking the heavens for a sign that she is with me, and it feels very silent from up there.

My Grandma was my maternal figure in life. It hurts to write that, as I know that statement will hurt my mother to read. Doesn’t make it any less true. I don’t think there are a lot of people that can understand the bond that we had. People didn’t acknowledge her death like they do the loss of parents. That hurts too. They don’t understand, they can’t relate. It’s kinda just like an old person dying, it’s their time, maybe. It was an isolating experience.

Isolating and overwhelming in such a way that I then decided I had enough of living in Australia, enough of that life. I ran away to Canada to start somewhere new. It got me to this point, which I am grateful. But man, was it rough getting here. I wonder if she’s proud of me. I wonder if she’s watching me.

Hey Grandma, it’s me, Kate.

Why don’t you call? Why don’t you write? Why don’t I hear from you? Why did you have to leave so soon? When will you come and visit me?

It feels very heavy in my body today. I feel paralysed with sadness. I tried reaching out to people, but that didn’t really help at all. I want to go for a dip in the ocean, but at the same time I just wanna stay inside and eat the world. No sudden movements.

I love, love, love how much time we spent together. It was my favourite time. We didn’t need to do anything in particular. Play cards, read gossip magazines, make pancakes, go swimming, tell us stories. How I miss your stories. How I wish I could remember them.

You were really something else. Took a solo working holiday to New Zealand where you met Grandad. Is he with you now too? I hope you were reunited. I remember not liking you much when he was alive. I remember deciding to give you a chance when he passed. I thought ‘if my favourite person in the world loved this woman, then she must be alright’. And so began our love story.

You were a social butterfly. You had so many friends. Your calendar was jam packed. You lived a simple life. You didn’t need much. You loved your ‘sweets’ and we loved you loving them too.

Being with you on your death bed was one of the most beautiful, heartbreaking times of my life. I will cherish it forever. I wish I could go back and relive it. I wish I could replay our conversations, replay the quiet moments. Replay it all. I still haven’t grieved your death. It was too hard for me at the time. It’s still too hard. The tears flowing now show that I am more ready than I have ever been to start that process.

This isn’t coming out how I wanted it to, how I thought about it last night. I have done a lot of healing since you left. I wish you could have been here to see me change and experience the lightness you so desperately wanted for my soul. I know you couldn’t really understand it. I didn’t understand it either. I thought it was just the way I was. Something was very wrong with me. Not me, at my core, but what happened to me.

I wish I could call you. I wish I could hear your voice. I wish I could hear just one more time ‘Oh, Kate’ and then you give me a big hug. Just lay in bed together.

Please visit me in my dreams.

I love you,

Kate

~~~

I am very cynical the last few days, particularly today. Life feels too hard again. I feel too broken. Life would be a lot more peaceful for everyone if I wasn’t in it. I’m always messing up relationships. I can’t do relationships in general. Hiding is a lot more peaceful for me, and yet I get so lonely at the same time. I have a pile up of things, tasks, jobs to do and I can’t seem to get over the hump to do them. This then makes me criticise myself, which is very unhelpful as I am very cruel to myself. I can’t help but think I should go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and try again.

Will I regret not going for a cold dip?

You know it’s a bad day when music doesn’t bring you joy.