2017 has, so far, been probably the worst of my life.
Loosing both my Gands and my Granddad in such a short space of time, having not really experience grief before, has completely and utterly shocked me to the core. Both were well-admired in their respective communities, both popular men. They’d been the limelight of family gatherings.
My Gands had had Alzheimer’s for many years, and unfortunately he’d had no recognition of anyone for over four years. The disease had altered him completely, his kind personality often destroyed. It was because of this that his death was, to me, almost a blessing. I’d give anything for a few more minutes with him, before his mind was taken, but I know he’s now sat in his scruffy clothes we all moaned about enjoying a pint.
In the last few weeks I’ve had a lot of conflicting feelings. I’ve felt guilty. I know I avoided my paternal grandparents over Christmas as knowing my Gands was in the latter stages of life was too raw. I felt guilty that I cried more for one than the other. I’ve felt guilty at not traveling up to be with my parents, at carrying on with work and life. I’ve obviously felt sad, but I’ve also managed to laugh about them. I’ve felt happy that I had so many years with all of my grandparents. I’ve felt resentful that some of my cousins had better relationships. I’ve felt guilty that I had a better relationship with my Gands than my cousins. But it’s taught me a lot about grief.
I’ve learnt it’s okay for grief to disrupt my life. It’s okay to feel sad. But it’s also okay to feel happy. I know that both of them would want me to keep them in their hearts and make them proud – and that’s what I’ll do.