Milestones without My Mum

I think it goes without saying that every day when you lose a parent at a young age is difficult. I’m 100% being truthful when I say that my mum pops into my mind every single day, even 5 years after her death. But there is something especially bittersweet about her absence when I’m about to hit a milestone.

My mum died of cancer when I was 15 years old, and she was my best friend. She came to all of my school concerts and plays, all of my riding lessons and shows as a child, every single parents evening and I know I was so lucky to have had a parent who could and would do that. Losing her at the age of 15 means that most of what people consider significant life events or milestones, I have experienced without her. My GCSE Results, my A Level results, my first kiss, my first time moving away from home, my 16th and 18th birthdays have all happened without her. And it’s not just these big events where I feel her absence; I remember wishing she could come and see my GCSE Drama production, or to see me off at the airport when I went to the USA for three months. Every birthday and Christmas is somehow tainted with her absence. And don’t even get me started on mother’s day.

For the first few years there was an extra factor into all of this; jealousy. It’s an ugly thing to think and I’m not proud of it but I couldn’t help but feel on my 16th birthday, or when I got my A level results that my brother got to do this with Mum. He’s three and a half years older than me and was in his first year of University when she passed away. She wanted to go up and help him move in, but she couldn’t due to being knee deep in chemo.

I remember opening my results for my GCSE’s quite vividly; I went alone because I didn’t want my dad to be there and he had work anyway. I went in, hands shaking and tore through the envelope. After a look through, I was pretty pleased with my grades and called Dad to tell him how he did. He was elated and very proud. After I hung up the phone, I almost went to make another call. But then I realised I couldn’t. I looked around the hall for my two best friends, who were both standing with their own mums a little way off. It felt like I’d been punched in the gut and I wanted to burst into tears. It felt so unfair that everyone else got to tell their mum’s how they did and I didn’t. I quickly composed myself though and got on with my day – I didn’t want to cry when I’d actually gotten pretty good results. I know that had she been alive I probably would’ve told her to stay at home as well, but it was the option to do so that I wanted. God, what I would’ve given to have been able to do that.

I found moving out to University for the first time particularly difficult. I remember having a dream the week before I was due to go. My mum and I were driving down a road, and then she was helping me unpack things in my room, and then we went to a café. I don’t remember the specifics but I remember feeling warm and happy. And then I woke up, and for a few blissful moments I thought it was true and would happen. And then reality crashed into me, that that was never going to happen. Moving in was okay in the end, but I was moving boxes and walking around my new campus feeling hollow and off the entire time. There were a few confused looks when I introduced my Dad and my Stepmum and I knew what they were thinking. What about her mother? Where is she? But most people didn’t ask. Apart from my flatmate later on that day, who I know got an answer she wasn’t entirely expecting. Not the best way to start off a relationship.

As I’m writing this, it is the night before I move into University for the second time. And I can truthfully say that I am in a much better place this time. A mixture of therapy and taking time to grieve and come to terms what happened means I am more accepting this time around of my situation. Maybe it’s because I’ve done it before and it’s not as ‘significant’ but I think it’s a good sign anyway. My 21st is later this year and I’m apprehensive as I always am for big birthdays because I just have no idea what I’ll feel like on the day. But I know in my heart that either reaction is totally okay. I do think about the future; how if I ever get married she won’t be there, if I ever have kids she won’t get to meet the grandchildren I know she so sorely wanted to meet. But I’m starting to accept this reality more than be angry about it – and I know that wherever she is, she’s watching, and she’s proud.

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Music is the Strongest form of Magic

As far as I can remember, I always have been a music lover. As a child I used to record songs from the radio onto cassette (yes, I am that old). Half the fun was trying to get the timing perfect so you had no silly radio DJ talking at the beginning or end, just pure music. My sister and I used to make up dance routines to music videos, and I went to dance classes. Even now, the songs I spent hours learning the choreography too still stick in my head. 

When somebody asks that famous question of your favourite music, my answer is that I have eclectic tastes. How can you answer with just one song or genre? It's impossible. Sometimes the music just gets to you, and you have no choice. 

More recently, I realised that I actually listen to music quite a lot. I stick my earphones in as soon as I leave the house, and they’re with me for my whole commute, whilst shopping, whilst driving, whilst sleeping, whilst blogging. I just love my life to have a soundtrack.

via GIPHY

But is most important to me is how I can use music as a form of escapism. It’s a way to distance myself from the thoughts in my head but also the world. I don’t have to think about the crowded commute or be distracted by the people around me. It helps me to focus, and to zone out some of the anxieties and madness going on inside. 

I recently broke a pair of headphones in the middle of the day, and it shocked me how much it affected me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would cope, and I became ultra aware of all my surroundings, and all the things I usually blocked out. Needless to say, I immediately went out and bought another pair. I need my safety blanket of headphones. 

On the flip side, music connects me to the world. I love discovering new artists through recommendations, and creating playlists with my friends. I like dancing to songs and feeling that moment when you can just belt out your favourite tune. To be at a gig for your favourite band, and stand singing along with everyone in the crowd, those moments are indescribable. I feel like part of something big and united and it makes something fizzle inside me.

What is amazing is that everyone has a different story, a different experience. Maybe it's the song you first danced to at your wedding, or had your first kiss. The song of the summer, or that tune you just can’t get out of your head. 

Music is my calmness, my alternate reality when things get too harsh in life. I love that I can just take a step back into the world of headphones, and zone out for a little while. My little world away from the world.

I've made a little playlist of a few of my current favourites. If you bump into me, it's likely I'm bopping along to one of these.

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My Journey with Anxiety

About 20 months ago, I dropped out of University. There were a multitude of reasons this, but the biggest was probably my rapidly deteriorating mental health and anxiety.

I had my first panic attack on the evening of the 8th of January 2015. I won’t go into details but due to also being a hypochondriac I came to the conclusion that I was dying, went to a hospital less than 8 hours before my English exam for them to tell me that no, I was not dying, and that my body had just panicked a bit. It was probably due to my exam and other things going on in my life at the time, and that it would probably be a one off experience.

For the next 6 months, I had a panic attack almost every single day.

There were days when I would have up to five or six in a day, days when all I would do is go from my bed to the sofa downstairs and back up again in the evening. I was terrified to leave my house, terrified to be separated from my safe place and my safe people. I was exhausted all the time due to my body being constantly on edge and my appetite decreased dramatically. I was miserable and scared, and what was worse was that nobody was taking me seriously. Doctors fobbed me off with anxiety meds but no diagnosis, my dad would tell me to ‘just calm down and stop worrying’. If you have any experience with anxiety, you know this is the worst thing to say.

Over those six months, through a combination of therapy and learning to recognise my thought processes, the panic somewhat lessened. I went from 5 panic attacks a day to one. I got a job in a fast food restaurant in my local town which gave me a purpose and something to keep my mind occupied, although there were many nights I ended up calling my dad on my breaks sobbing that I couldn’t make it through my shift.

With time and therapy though, I began to understand what was happening to me. I learned that when the panic kicked in, my brain was thinking illogically and that by doing sums or counting I could force my brain to think logically to help me calm down. I figured out what my triggers were, things including large crowds of people in a small space, heights, illness and feeling generally out of control. By understanding my triggers and what to do when my anxiety was running high, my panic attacks became somewhat less frequent and more manageable.

In June 2015, I went to the USA for three months. I spent two months working at a summer camp and one month travelling. In my time there, I had one, very minor panic attack in a Walmart that I managed to get a hold of within 2 minutes. With the stress of camp dynamics and having a job where I was ‘On’ for 22 hours a day, I didn’t really have the time to panic, and so my anxiety took a back seat.

When I returned home in September of last year, everything was great. I managed to get a job within a month and I was much calmer and more relaxed than I had been before I went. Around December however, the panic attacks started returning.

They were small at first, things I could handle with two minutes and a sit down in the stock room. But then at the end of a shift in about April a major one hit. Luckily it came on about 5 minutes before I had to clock out so I rode it out and immediately went into the changing rooms to do my counting and breathing exercises that always brought me back eventually. It took me half an hour to calm down, and I spent the rest of the evening in bed because I was so exhausted.

Thankfully, I haven’t had a big one since then. I still sometimes can feel my heart racing or feel a bit dizzy, but I can usually intervene with the exercises I’ve learned help me before it escalates. However in about a month I will be returning to University, thrown into a city I don’t know with people I don’t know and I’m scared it’s going to flare up again. I’m well aware that these past few months have been a good patch and that I will probably be dealing with anxiety for the rest of my life. But that’s ok; hopefully through understanding my triggers, therapy and knowing what works to calm me down, I can take on University and life and not let my anxiety hold me back in the process.

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Guest Post: Empty Chairs by Amber Bensted

There's no right way to start this post. My story won't resonate with everyone, my experiences won't fit into other peoples ideas and the things I went through won't be the same as the stories you've heard before. Because that's the thing about grief, there's no cookie cutter process. . .

Imagine your average 18 year old girl. Working in a job she hates because she didn't want to deal with school anymore, living at home with her parents and spending her weekends doing normal 18 year old things (drinking, hanging out with her boyfriend, you know the deal). I was pretty sure I had life sorted. Sure my job was kind of rubbish but it paid enough for me to enjoy my plentiful free time and in short everything seemed to be going great. Then it changed.

No one tells you the extent to which your world will change when you lose someone close to you. So when my Dad, my superhero vanished from my life there was nothing that could prepare me for it all.

When someone dies it doesn't feel real for a while. I remember coming home from the hospital, I wasn't crying or screaming I was just walking. Putting one foot in front of the other with my family behind me, minus one person. To the people walking past me I probably looked like any other girl. Your brain doesn't always remember that you've lost someone. I would slip up, start to call out goodmorning to him before I remembered he wasn't going to reply. I would instinctively turn the radio to his favourite station then be confused as to why it made me cry. Things that were normal before turned bitter and it always took me a moment to figure out why.

You don't cry everyday. I always thought that if I lost someone I wouldn't be able to stop crying. In the films, it's all dramatic tears as you stare longingly out of windows but in reality grieving isn't necessarily tears, for me it was just an emptiness. It was an empty chair, a strangely quiet room and an inbox of unread text messages. It was thinking "I can't wait to tell Dad about this" then realising he wasn't there to tell. It wasn't a flood of tears it was a drout of all emotion.

One of the hardest things for me was hearing people say it'll be ok. Being told that it would make me stronger made me want to scream! I didn't want to get on with life, someone had hit pause in my world and I wasn't ready for it to start again.

The truth is yes the pain does fade and eventually you learn to keep going without the person you lost. One day you stop saying goodnight to an empty chair and as terrible as it sounds you might even go days without thinking about them. But it will still hurt sometimes, there will be days where it hits you like a wave and it's like you lost them yesterday. That's ok. It hits everyone differently; Dad died 2 years ago and there are still days where all I want to do is crawl into a hole and stay there or scream until my lungs run out of air. But there are days where I smile and laugh like any other 20 year old.

If there's one thing I've learned it's that you don't stop missing someone. There's no magic solution or time limit when it comes to grief. But as hard as it was to believe in the beginning it does get better. You'll learn to re-evaluate things, to prioritise your life in a way you couldn't before. You'll begin to accept the things that have changed and in a way create something good. It might not be what you imagined but it's life and that's pretty damn impressive.

If you've ever lost somebody, I hope you're ok. But remember if you're struggling it's never too late to reach out for help. Speak to those around you, if you think you need it go and see a counsellor. You don't need to go through this alone.

Amber x

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Guaranteed Smiles

Recently I’ve found myself having a series of bad days. Whether due to my mental health, a loved one being ill or the sadness of current world events, over the last few months day after day I’ve found myself feeling low. Then a few weeks ago, I came to the realization that the things I’ve been feeling sad about I can’t change, not really. So I started thinking about what I could change. If I can’t change the sad things that are currently going on in my life and in the world then maybe I can create more happiness to try and balance things out a little.

So I took out my journal and made a list of all of the things that are guaranteed to make me smile and since then I’ve made it a personal goal to do as many of the things on this list as I can when I feel sad. It doesn’t solve any problems, and it doesn’t make the bad things go away but it does steady my mood and helps me to recognise the good things in my life. So today I wanted to share with you my list of Guaranteed Smiles, I’d really encourage any of you to write your own list and put those little rays of happiness into action during those times when life gets dark.

Get Some Fresh Air – Whether taking a short walk, sitting in my garden or simply opening up the windows of my house, getting some fresh air into my lungs helps clear the cobwebs of my mind and makes it easier to breathe when I’m feeling anxious.

Do Something Nice For Someone – This can be something as simple as making someone a cup of tea, paying them a compliment, or buying them a little gift just because. Doing something nice for somebody else makes them happy and in my experience is the most natural way of making myself feel happy in return.

Feel Good Reads- Reading is one of the easiest ways to escape the world for a little while and when I’m feeling sad I like to read something feel good to cheer myself up. Two books that have made me smile recently are You Know Me Well by David Levithan and Nina LaCour and The Plumberry School of Comfort Food by Cathy Bramley.

Pizza – Pizza solves everything.

Surprise Yourself by Jack Garratt – I absolutely love this song and always listen to it on days when I don’t feel like I can cope. The music video for this is incredible, it follows a group of people doing something they didn’t think they could do, if you haven’t watched it yet then you should!

Fresh Flowers – If I’m having a bad mental health day I find it hard to leave my house and so having fresh flowers in my room allows me to bring a little bit of outside in. I usually choose bright colours that will really catch my eye and brighten my space.

Meg – My little dog is such a goofball. She loves life and seeing her play and explore the world always makes me happy.

Pamper Evenings – Sometimes feeling good on the outside helps me to feel better on the inside too. Looking after my body and treating it to some me-time makes me feel great and gives me space to mentally get my thoughts together.

Making Fun Plans – This is a big one for me. Having something on the horizon to look forward to be it a day out or hanging out with friends gives me something good to focus on. Knowing something fun is coming up in the future makes getting through a hard day that little bit easier.

Red Velvet Cake – The ultimate comfort food.

Lighting a Candle – There is something so peaceful about flickering candlelight and if the candle has a beautiful scent even better.

Twitter Favourites – I usually favourite things on Twitter that have made me laugh, have given me faith in the world, or have made me feel valued and loved. Scrolling through a great big list of lovely things that other people have said really cheers me up.

Writing My WIP – I’m currently working on a Women’s Fiction project set in the countryside at Christmas. This WIP contains so many of my favourite things and features characters that I love. Writing it sweeps me away to a place that I love spending time in. It’s also nice to play God and to be able to take control of the world and characters for a while - even if it is only fiction!

Jane the Virgin – This show is a new discovery of mine and it’s so cute I can’t even deal. I recently finished watching the first season on Netflix and am waiting impatiently for them to add season two.

Journaling - Writing in my journal allows me to get all of my thoughts and feelings out in a private place and sometimes just getting them down on to paper is all that is needed for me to feel better and make sense of a situation.

Trying a New Look – Playing around with makeup is one of my favourite ways to get creative and express myself. When I’m feeling down I love trying out new makeup looks and find it fun to switch things up a little (I’m sure this stems from the many teen films I’ve watched where a makeover has solved all of the heroines problems.)

Chatting to Friends – This year I’ve learnt to be really honest with my friends when I’m struggling instead of keeping it all inside. I’ve learnt that it’s okay to lean on them when I need support and that being totally open and honest creates a deeper and more valuable friendship with the people you allow to get close to you.

Making a List of Achievements – It’s easy to look at the people around you and think that they have achieved so much more than you and are in a better place. Instead, when you find yourself thinking those thoughts, turn the focus on you. What have you achieved this year? Make a list of everything you’ve accomplished and take a moment to acknowledge your successes and feel proud of yourself.

I’d love to know, what would be on your list of Guaranteed Smiles?

If you enjoyed this post, you can find more on: 

 Bloglovin' | Twitter | Jess Hearts Books

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When You Think You Can't... You Probably Can

I have had a really difficult couple of weeks. I’m coming to the end of two years of therapy and, as someone with tough past experiences of endings, I’ve been dreading it. Then, after my psychologist and I were slowly beginning to put plans into place as to how we would spend our remaining weeks together, my care coordinator announced that she would be leaving. I sobbed and sobbed. This was less because of sadness and more because I didn’t think I could cope with it. I had already told myself that I wouldn’t manage the end of therapy, so doubling what I would have to deal with surely meant catastrophe. But, you know what? I have proved myself wrong.

The endings I’m so anxious about are still to come, so I can’t predict exactly what I will be like when they happen. However, what I have been able to do is put strategies in place that allow me to cope in the moment. In spite of initially thinking that the future was enough to tip me over the edge, I told myself that I would cope. I honestly believe that, in life, we generally have a say over whether we cope or not, as well as what we use to do so. That’s not to say that we manage without the help of others or that we don’t become recluses for a time when we’re wracked with anxiety. But in my choice to cope, because the alternative was a downward spiral that would mean hospital admission or worse, I took back some of the control that I felt I had lost. I couldn’t stop the NHS from limiting my therapy to two years or my care coordinator getting a new job. I can choose to live my life though and to make decisions that make that life worth living. I can tell myself that I can turn my future into what I want it to be, whether that be having a career or a family or going travelling.

Two days after I was told of my care coordinator’s imminent departure, I was due to meet fellow Safe Space writers, Jo and Faye. I haven’t been in a social environment where I would be meeting and chatting to people in two years. Anxiety has grown so big in my mind that I had convinced myself that I would never again be able to meet people: they wouldn’t like me, I would say something stupid, it would just be too much for me. Perhaps it’s because I felt I had nothing to lose after the week I was having, but I went to London and met Jo and Faye and… it was brilliant! I was without a doubt that meeting people was never something I was going to manage and, once again, I was proved wrong.

If the last fortnight has taught me anything, it is that even when I am utterly convinced that something is impossible, that it’s not something I can survive and that I’m not resilient enough to cope with it, life so often has other ideas. There is very little that I can’t do. I won’t be Queen of England, nor will I be an international athlete. But when life hits as hard as it can and often in unexpected ways, I find a strength that I didn’t know I had and I become creative in discovering ways of coping.

This isn’t a post for me to big myself up and say, “Look what I can do.” It’s to say, “Look at what we all can do.” I have put off so many opportunities because of the messages of fear I was telling myself. Perhaps you’re doing the same – avoiding meeting people who could become great friends, not going to an interview because you decide you would never be good enough for the job, dreading the future because it looks so much bigger than your limited emotional resources. But I truly believe that you can.

Sometimes we need the support of others, whether it be friends or therapists; sometimes we need to take time to cry because a relationship is ending; sometimes we may feel terrified when we try something new. But that’s okay. It doesn’t matter how we get there. It just matters that we get there in the end. So as I dare myself to take greater leaps of faith and to trust in my own capacity to cope, I wonder if you will join me. What do you tell yourself you can’t do? Maybe it’s time to see that you can.

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Grief in all its Sh*tty Splendour

By the time you are reading this post I will have been to my Grandpa’s funeral. I wasn’t sure how it would go but based off how I’ve felt since he died on the 13^th of February I thought I might get through it without turning into the sodden mess I was at my Uncle’s funeral in December. Oh yeah, this *is* my second funeral for a close relative in about two months, I’m more than ready to be done with death at this point. Like seriously, fuck off death.

You might be wondering where the hell I’m going with this after that opening – basically grief is a weird mess of feelings that after three family deaths in the last 5 years I still don’t fucking understand. Every time I’ve lost someone, I’ve felt so differently to the point that I don’t even know how I might react in the future. Not that I want to contemplate that right now. Not even a little bit.

Back in 2011 my Granddad died suddenly and I’ll be honest it fucking floored me. Hell it still bothers me from time to time and it’s nearly five years since it happened. At the time I took a rather odd method to dealing with things – I wrote a blog post about it (here) and since then I’ve had a dangerously morbid sense of humour when it comes to talking about the subject of death. By making awful and borderline inappropriate jokes I stave off the constant crying that might otherwise occur, while possibly at the same time making people think I’m slightly unhinged.

I was so angry and devastated for months after my Grandad died, it was such a sudden occurrence that we were all left reeling at the void that had opened up beneath us. Just processing that he wasn’t there anymore was impossible. I had the distinctly dubious luck to be present at the hospital when he passed along with the rest of my family so now I have a ghoulishly detailed memory of that god-awful Thursday night to haunt me for likely the next twenty years.

This is the version of my Grandad I want to remember. :D

With hindsight comes a few consolations. While I may rail bitterly against the knowledge that my Grandad never got to meet my boyfriend Mark (known to Twitter as Le Boyf), or that I’ll never be able to hear him sing at my wedding one day (goddamn just thinking about this makes me choke up), I have to remember that not long before he died my Grandad was diagnosed as being in the early stages of dementia. If he hadn’t gone when he did, he could have slid away from us bit by bit until he was less than a shadow of the vibrant man we loved. I now understand all too well that it was a very back-handed blessing that my family was spared that awful experience. At least that time.

My Uncle’s death in December was grossly unfair and heart-breaking, but it wasn’t a surprise – he had had a massive stroke in April 2014 and by some fucking miracle survived. Only for us to learn several weeks later that the blood clot had been caused by several brain tumours and that he likely only had 4-6 months left. Which obviously was a thorough kick in the spine once we were already on the floor. He was only in his mid-50’s and had already battled melanoma twice before, surely he’d had far more than his fair share?

The only two positive things that came from my Uncle’s diagnosis was that although he couldn’t really speak or use his right side due to the stroke, he was still unmistakeably the same man in his mind. The other positive thing was that the 4-6 months prognosis ended up being 18 months which I will never stop being grateful for. I’ll be honest now, the women in my family are more than a little high-strung and opinionated so it seems to be the trend that we gravitate towards very chill and easy-going guys who don’t mind living with our nonsense. My Uncle Peter was quite possibly the most laid-back person I’ve ever known and had a fantastically wicked sense of humour that he kept the entire time he was battling the cancer.

The last time I saw Peter was at a joint birthday party for me and my Grandma last October (we’ve always had joint parties since our birthdays are on the 7^th & 11^th). I didn’t see him again because his health started to deteriorate later that month and continued to worsen through November so both me and my sister were told that it was best if we didn’t see him like that. I do not regret that decision in the slightest.

The birthday party was held at my sister’s flat in Nottingham so from my house takes a 15 minute drive and a 30 minute tram journey to get there. When Mark & I walked onto the street where her building is, we were met with an odd sight. My cousin Jamie, my Aunt and my Uncle Arnold were cleaning the roof of my Aunt’s car in one of the parking spaces.

It turns out that as my Aunt was driving round Nottingham’s god-awful ring road she had to get round two cyclists who were hogging most of a lane. As they passed, my Uncle Pete thought it would be *hilarious* to stick two fingers up at the cyclists, using the one hand that still worked. Apparently the blokes weren’t too impressed by my Troll Uncle’s antics and when they were stopped next to the car at some traffic lights soon after, took it upon themselves to throw a carton of milkshake onto the roof, resulting in the mess that I saw them cleaning up.

My Aunt was beside herself and threatened to put mittens on Pete if he dared do it again. Pete being Pete, spent pretty much the entire afternoon flipping the V at us all every chance he got, grinning like a fiend as we howled with laughter. There is a picture from that afternoon which I will cherish forever because it so perfectly epitomises who my Uncle was and I’m so glad that it’s the last memory I have of him.

Auntie Michele & Uncle Pete

Losing him was such a heavy blow but at the same time, we knew he was no longer suffering and it would be callous to wish for him to still be here if it meant he was in prolonged agony. He could have died straight out from the stroke and we would have been left shell-shocked and bereft like we were after Grandad died. But we were astonishingly lucky to have been given the gift of 18 more months with him when we thought we had only a handful.

We had the time to say goodbye on our terms, time to fortify our hearts against the wave of grief that was looming on the horizon, to brace ourselves to weather the storm. We could hold onto each other until the surge subsided and then pick our way back to the shores of normality. I’m not sure if we’re in the clear yet. But one day we will be.

For my side of the family though the waves swept us out again in February. My Grandpa (I will always love how everybody seems to have different epithets for their maternal & paternal grandparents) died suddenly on the 13^th February but on this occasion I did not cry. In fact I only actually cried on Monday at the funeral right at the end when the final song started to play – Josh Groban has a lot to answer for. Before you really start to question my sanity I need to explain why this third death has affected me so differently.

My Grandpa had been ill for a long time. He was diagnosed with Vascular Dementia about a year or so after my Grandad died. I honestly believe that the shock of his death probably hastened the onset of my Grandpa’s illness. I don’t know how usual it is for both sets of grandparents to be friendly like mine were/are - for as long as I can remember my Gran & Grandad have got on really well with my Nan & Grandpa. We had them all at my parent’s house every Christmas and we even took them on holiday to Florida with us twice.

Grandpa Charles & Grandad Don (L+R) at Epcot

But over the last few years dementia slowly robbed my Grandpa of everything that made him who he was. I think it was sometime in 2012 or 2013 that I went to my Nan’s house for the first time in several weeks or maybe a couple of months and was so struck by how different he was even then that I started to cry. He was starting to hunch over and shuffle his feet as he moved and my Nan had to guide him back to the sofa.

That was the top of a long slope which Grandpa kept sliding down, becoming less and less able to function, more and more dependent on my Nan until she was unable to leave him alone for more than a few minutes without him getting agitated. For the last 9 months or so my Nan has effectively been house-bound caring for him up until the start of December when he finally had to be moved to a hospital as she was no longer able to look after him at home.

Like with my Uncle I hadn't seen my Grandpa in several months as my parents felt it would only upset me and my sister to see him how he was - unable to really move by himself and so far gone with Dementia and Alzheimer's (that little shit of an illness rocked up to the party eventually) that often he didn't recognise my Nan or my Dad and would be shouting and swearing at them. I didn't argue with my Mother about this, it was awful enough seeing him sitting vacantly on the sofa, barely aware of what was going on around him let alone seeing a complete stranger effing and blinding at his family.

I think that's a lot of why I'm not all that sad now. To my mind my Grandpa has been dead for a couple of years already - at least the essence of him has been gone for that long. The dementia was like a vicious sprite frolicking through his brain, gleefully shredding everything that made him the person I recognised as my Grandpa. All that we saw each day was the hollowed out shell left behind.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wished he'd died sooner. Seeing the increasing strain and distress that his worsening condition caused for my parents and my Nan, made me wish that he would just slip away that last little bit during the night so the awful drawn-out trauma could finally be over. Every day that he continued in that shade of an existence was another day of good memories that were stripped from the time Before. It's hard to remember now how he was before 2011 because the fucking Dementia has seared it all away, leaving me with only the memories of the man who was no longer my Grandpa.

That Saturday when we got the phone call from my Nan to say that he had died, I felt a numbness that shocked me as well as an even more disturbing sense of relief. Finally. The suffering was over for him at long fucking last and the rest of us could stop holding our breath. 

At the funeral there were so many people that some had to stand at either sides of the room. That was wonderful to see. My Grandpa was a very popular and well-liked man and I envy all those old friends and work colleagues their happy, untainted memories of him. I actually read a poem at the beginning of the service. When I agreed to do it my Mother was impressed but for me I didn't anticipate that I would be too upset to manage it. After the service everyone kept congratulating me on how well I had done with the reading and I honestly felt like a bit of a fraud for *not* having been more upset about it.

I don't think many people would quite get what I meant if I said that I wasn't sad because I'd already mourned the loss of my Grandpa over the months that he vanished before our eyes, so I kept nodding and thanking all the people I didn't know as they told me how brave I was. Brave is the last word I would have used for me on Monday.

The point that I think I'm trying to make is that Grief and Death are such intangible lethifold-esque beasts that you can never guess whether they'll sneak up on you and devour you whole, or whether they'll rip apart those you love and leave you standing in the remnants, too shell-shocked to feel anything. You never know what you'll feel until the feelings hit.

I hope this may have meant something to some of you, and that you found a nugget of happiness from the few happy moments I've shared. It's been incredibly hard to lay out all these thoughts so I do hope they make sense. 

Thank you so much for reading. 

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