Thinking about my Grandma
I find that it leaves a very strange feeling when someone you love dies, when the circumstances are that death itself is the least worst thing that can realistically happen to your loved one.
You cannot after all grieve for something that has set them free from their pain or torment.
All you can do is contemplate. Celebrate. Remember.
I'm finding myself drifting off into remembrance quite a lot. It almost feels like a part of my mind is on a different plane of existence, that sensation of it working at a different level bordering on the subconscious. I hook my awareness into it and I find that part of myself reliving my life with my Grandma, reliving our shared experiences.
It sounds stupid, but if feels like I'm close to the divine, and believers of course would say that that is exactly what I am experiencing, that she is still close by (except that I've found that this self-same sensation is achievable through art, whether pieces of sound or music, physical spaces, or visual works of art. In beauty.)
Its just the feeling of another strand of thought dreaming away somewhere under the surface.
When I think of my Grandma right now, I think of her laughing with uncontrolled delight as the cat in that old Goodies episode trampled all over London (she was a real cat lover, not that her cats loved me - I must've only seen them a dozen times in all the time she was alive!) Her infectiously rich laugh, her warmth, her love.
I think of my parents driving us down towards London to stay with her at weekends, so many years ago, in a house that I recall as clearly as my current home. In fact, I'm sure that one of the things that must have appealed when first seeing my current home with a view to buy is that structurally and in atmosphere it is in fact incredibly similar to my Grandma's home!
I remember the mysterious glass containers of coloured salts and crystals in the bathroom. I remember the excitement of taking a bath there, the London water seeming silky soft and exquisite by contrast to our own hard water.
I remember feeling adrenalised by the sound of the Heathrow flightpath, the roar of Concorde passing over - little things that made life seem so different compared to my own locality, and the excitement of the capital.
I remember small things that now seem intensely personal to my Grandma, like going into her bedroom in the mornings to watch her use her teasmade, or the extravagant breakfasts that she would put on, complete with toast in the rack, something which made me feel like royalty. Little things, personal things, things that made up my Grandma.
All I can hope is that one day I will be made up of so many beautiful, wonderful parts.
*tears* your grandmother sounds gorgeous. mine passed on 19 years and 1 one week ago and i still miss her. reading this post brought her to me. i have the same reaction, every time she comes around to let me know i'm doing ok. thanks for sharing this :)
See, that's what I like about blogging. You can say what you feel, talking honestly and truthfully to people who you have probably never met and never will and it just helps...hang on to those memories Starbuck.