My Nanny Theresa died on Friday 6th August.
to process this, in the weeks after, I put my trainers on, clicked the dog in his harness, and walked, and walked. In the duller moments of the podcasts I listened to, I found myself zoning out, mentally transcribing a blog post about grief. It was going to be called, Grief: The third reinvention. Who will I be now?
It was how I felt back in August, that I was always having to reinvent myself after grief. That my entire essence was in fact as a response to grief. I paid enough attention in my psychology A Level class to understand how traumatic the response to losing the primary caregiver early on in life can be, and I realised back in August, that losing my Mum when I was four, has meant that grief is all I've ever known. The loss, the gaping hole, the emptiness, it has always been here. I've built my foundations around this, on top of the vacancy.
My Nanny Theresa, was the rope between my Mum and I. I realise it now, what we meant to each other. I reflected back her daughter, and in her, I saw the creator of my Mother. We were bonded, the generation gap, welded together by our relationship. When she passed away in August, I was struck by double grief, of my Nan and my Mum. Of what was now left, just me. My Mum had no sisters, and I have none either. I am the woman left in that direct lineage, that carries their legacy.
I dealt with the grief well on the whole. Organising a funeral is hard. Communicating the news to friends is hard. But overall, I coped well. The day she died I spent my feelings in M&S, as a true tribute, on loungewear and sleep aids. I walked a lot and I coped better than I ever thought I would. I think a lot of people expected me to fall apart. I suppose, part of me expected that too. People would check in with me, and when I said, i was "Okay", I think they thought i was lying. But in reality, this is all i've ever known, loss.
I got back to work in September. It wasn't ideal timing, her hospital stay and death just weeks after starting a new role but it was great to be back into a routine.
Then earlier this month, on bonfire night, My Nanny Pat died. I didn't see it coming. I couldn't believe it would happen so soon after losing my Nanny Theresa. I took no time off, and I worked through solidly, prepping for our Christmas launch. It didn't feel real. It felt like people were bored when I shared the news. Like grief only gets a go once a year, and i'd already used up my quota of sympathy.
Now I stand in a weird place of grief, while life continues, while I continue. Even in loss, the dishwasher needs doing, the fridge needs filling, and the floors need hoovering.
It's hard to articulate my mental state at the moment. Back in May, around my birthday and before either of them died, it felt like my brain literally flicked a switch. The 'Sane mental state upgrade IOS 26' was now available. Even in November, in the midst of dark nights, dark mornings, and dark loss, I'm still okay. I'm more than okay, i'm actually quite well. In mental health terms, despite all of this, I've never been better. Never more consistently content and happy.
I've built myself a safety net that keeps me this way. My various habits and support systems that keep me consistent. And i've continued doing them throughout this difficult time. But grief is strange.
I am so excited for Christmas. The decorations go up this weekend, and we've a December packed full of festive activities. I can't wait. I've been looking forward to it in spite of the fact that Christmas is the time of year that I most associate with both of my Nans. Christmas Eve at Nanny Theresa's, and Christmas Day morning at Nanny Pats. I was robbed of that time last year due to Covid, and I had no idea in 2019 that then would be the last Christmas I'd spend with them.
I am well, I am consistent, I am happy, at home with my Husband and Dog Harvey, on our weekend walks and jaunts to coffee shops. I'm doing good. But then grief hits, in complicated ways. I had learned to swallow grief, as it rose inside of me. I had to learn to get good, for when the inventible moment came in which i had to say "My Mum passed away when I was a child." You have to say it so many times, to new friends, colleagues, and general strangers, who ask prying questions about your life that it in time it can now be said as a statement, rather than a tearfully splutter. Grief is less appetising to the general public, so many years on.
On Saturday, in M&S cafe, with My Husband, His Sister and His Mum we were talking about Christmas. My favourite time! Out of nowhere, a wave of grief rose within me. My eyes filled and I could not speak, only sob. It blindsided me, this unfamiliarity of grief I could not soften. Of feelings I could not hide. I cried behind my hand, as my seating position meant I couldn't leave the table without moving others. It hit like a weight of bricks.
Grief is painful, and it is uncomfortable. It doesn't look good on social media, or when you've dragged yourself out of bed to put the bin out, old shabby dressing gown and tatty slippers. It cripples, in the supermarket, when you see their favourite food, or when you're near their house, and just for a moment, you forget they aren't here anymore. The biscuits will go to waste, the heating is now turned off. It is here, it is everywhere, it is nowhere to be seen. It's crying at your desk as you watch videos of them, and wiping down the tears five minutes later to lead a presentation on teams. It's putting it into boxes to seem palatable, to be able to meet your friends for coffee, and cry only when you're alone or with someone who understands.
Grief keeps changing me. It's so much of who I am, but i will not let it consume me. Gratitude grows from the spaces they have left behind.