I am acutely aware that writing about death is tricky. It stirs deep emotions and memories that can be upsetting, especially when it involves someone close to you. My brain seems to have an ability to bury these types of recollections for years, but occasionally they make an unexpected return that sends off a chain reaction of recollections, that whilst sad, also make me smile and feel grateful for times gone by. 

Recently, whilst walking my current canine, a cluster of memories involving my grandma, and specifically her sad passing, decided to gate crash my normal, banal, thoughts. They were sketchy, which is fine by me, as I get to remember her alive, full of life, and the best grandparent anyone could hope for. I was, unfortunately, the first one from our family to be informed, the day she died. That was a horrible twist of fate as my mum was on holiday, and the police couldn’t get hold of my older brother, Craig, so yours truly was next in line.

 Most of the day’s events are cloudy and buried deep in my subconscious. I struggle to remember traumatic events, which is odd. I just seem to have an ability to forget, or just find my stiff upper lip, and crack on with life. It can’t be healthy though, and I do worry that one day some event will come along, a death probably, that I can’t cope with, that I won’t be able to just brush aside. That does frighten me a tad. 

When my grandma passed, whilst I felt sad, I don’t remember grieving. I much preferred to think and talk about her life and laugh heartily. How she was an unintentional spoonerism expert. Olympic standard I would say. I would go to her flat for dinner where she would announce proudly that we were having ‘chork pops’. She adored the Royal Family and would talk about ‘our queer old dean’. She detested politicians and would shout at the TV whenever they appeared, exclaiming that they all told a ‘lack of pies’. I could go on, but you get the idea. 

My all-time memory, and there were many, was one particular Christmas Day. For some reason that I cannot recall, she ended up spending the day with me, my younger sister, Jess, and elder brother, Craig, at his house. I have no idea where Mum was that particular year, as she and Grandma usually spent Christmas together. Anyway, the three of us shared the cooking, with yours truly in charge of the turkey, whilst Grandma relaxed with a sherry or two. We had a wonderful time. The wine flowed, and Grandma was brimming with fun and laughter. We loved to play board games and she had always been at the forefront of that ritual. That particular year, Craig had bought a game called Bizzy Buzzy Bumbles. 

The premise was simple. You wore individual magnetic Buzzy Bumbles headbands and all you had to do was keep bobbing your head up and down and collect the magnetic bees from the board. The winner was the one who collected the most, and it was, primarily, a free-for-all until complete. Bearing in mind that Grandma was in her eighties, I approached Craig quietly. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea to play this particular game?” I asked. “It is a bit physical.” 

“She will be fine, I think. I’d better ask her, shouldn’t I?” 

Craig went off to ask and came back into the kitchen with an affirmative. 

“She is up for it. I knew she would be. This is going to be cracking fun.” And with that, he was away to prepare the table. 

He was right of course. She was up for it, as usual. It was quite a sight, seeing the four of us, tight around a small table, violently bobbing our heads, and crashing into each other as we tried to obtain the bees. A completely ridiculous pastime but when you are full of wine, with a grandma acting like a teenager, it was wonderful and very, very funny. 

We had planned that one of us would accompany Grandma back to her flat no later than 7 pm as we knew she would tire, but she was still going strong after midnight, pleading for one more ‘Busty Bees game’. It was me who finally got her coat and escorted her the short distance home. We linked arms as we walked. She was so happy that evening. Spending time with her grandchildren was special to her. A constant in our lives from birth upwards, she entertained us royally for many years, and with more love than you can imagine. 

It was the following day, when Mum called us with the news that Grandma had been to the local accident and emergency and was in a neck brace for at least a fortnight. Mum wanted an explanation as the old girl wasn’t saying anything. She was no snitch, that’s for sure. At first, Mum was annoyed at us for putting her at risk, until she heard all the details and calmed down. She reluctantly agreed with us that Grandma just wanted to live life and be herself, especially at eighty plus. Who knew how much longer we would have that special woman in our lives? 

The good news was that we got another ten years with her. The bad news was that final day. The one we knew was coming, sooner or later. I do remember seeing her lying on her living room floor. I think she had a smile, but as my memory won’t allow me to access it to see if this was true, I will keep that visual. 

My final recollection, before the dog brought me back into the present moment, was of yours truly kneeling down and stoking her hair. I remember saying a couple of words. 

“Oh Grandma.”…