To My Beautiful Grandmother, You Will Forever Be with Me

Terry Pratchett once said, “no one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.” 

If this is true, you’ll be alive forever.

I Facetimed you today just to see if miraculously you would pick up. 

I know that makes me sound crazy. I promise I’m not. I just miss you.

I recently went back to our house by the seaside. The one where you and I would sit on the balcony and you would tell me why men are bad and why I shouldn’t trust them. 

I grew up here, with you. You taught me so many lessons that I never truly appreciated until you were gone. It was weird being there without you. 

Sad, and painful. It felt as if there was something missing, which seems obvious because there was, but it was this longing sense of emptiness that troubled me most. 

The town wasn’t the same without you, and I felt your absence in every step I took.

Mother’s day was a few months ago. The first mother’s day without you was a heavy one. 

I reached for the phone to call you, and the sadness I felt was mirrored by the emotions on mum’s face. Not a day goes by that we don’t think of you or talk about you. Not a day goes by that we don’t laugh about your jokes or crave your amazing cooking. Not a day goes by where we are not reminded of the way you truly improved every single life you  ever touched.

While I was growing up, you met many of my friends, and although you had a language barrier with most of them, you never failed to leave an everlasting impact. Your love was felt by many, and I know I was incredibly lucky and privileged to have been one of the people who received that love. 

I wish I had thanked you more when you were with us. I wish I had thanked you for making me the woman I am today, for providing me with a strong female role model and for giving me the most amazing mother I could have ever asked for. We get our strength and love from you.

I remember when I was little and we would visit you, I always felt really lucky because I got to sleep in your room with you. Every night, you would tell me a story about your childhood. About how you met grandpa, or that time you stole a motorcycle and went riding on train tracks, or that time you dropped a broom on your brother’s head from five floors up. You were so caring, so brave, and so inspiring. I remember wanting to be exactly like you when I grew up. 

I still do.

I’m still reminded of your grace and beauty in the subtleties of each day. I see your smile when I look at mum, and I can hear your sarcasm in her voice. You may be gone, but you live on in all of us. I’ll tell my children about you someday, and they’ll tell theirs. The ripples of your life will never fade. This I can promise.