This morning along with my mother we travelled down through the New Forest to visit the little village church where my Granny was buried in October 1983. I was just 21 when she died, I was very close to my Granny, they had been due to visit us for a few days but she died of a massive heart attack during the night just a week before their proposed visit. The first thing I wanted to do when I heard the news, was to phone my Granny and tell her about this awful thing that had happened. Of course I couldn't ring her to tell her of my loss because she was the one I had lost.
I had inherited my love of writing from both my Granny and my mum. My Granny had a number of short stories published when I was a child, apparently she had a small income from her writing. In my late teens I had begun to dabble with a little creative writing of my own, just for my own amusement. But when she died so did my desire to write, I wanted to continue but somehow the flame had gone out. I didn't start writing again until January 2007, which was when I first began allowing others to read my work. I have made a decision to go back to writing classes and continue writing.
Today we visited her grave, we had meant to do so when we drove back from Bournemouth on Bank Holiday Monday, but didn't as we hadn't brought any flowers with us. My grandpa had done his best to tend her grave until he had to give up driving aged 90. Mother and I visited the grave when we could sometimes together but mostly alone. I think the last time I went was on the day of G's cremation 3 or was it 4 years ago. We left some potted flowers and I tidied up the headstone as best I could.
On the way we had talked about the funeral this coming Friday. It won't be a religious affair as unlike my Granny, my Grandpa didn't believe. So it will be a few pieces of music with a few words from mum about her dad's life then the hard part, I shall be reading out some of my memories of this man I am proud to be related to. My brothers will also do the same.
One piece of music my mum would like to play at the funeral but won't because listening to it has her in floods of tears is this one by one of her most favourite artists.
At the moment I am not feeling too great as I came down with a head cold on Friday, obviously my guard was down and the stinky rotten germs managed to get in under my defences. Maybe thats just my way of allowing the tears to escape. Considering that I am such an emotional person I find it very difficult to release any emotion in these times of sorrow, I don't cry or get angry, I was the same when my dad died prematurely aged 55. I was the same when I had Cancer. But when I have a head cold the tears stream down my face as though from a tap with a dodgy washer that just won't quite shut off. I guess its just another example of my upbringing, the British Stiff Upper Lip thing. Having to be strong, not collapsing in a heap in times of sorrow. My head tells me that I should allow myself to grieve but nothing comes. Maybe I have built a wall around my heart that keeps me going, yet I can read or watch something sentimental and I'm a sopping heap of tears why is that?