Pain and sorrow.

I am sure you’re wondering how we enjoyed Saturday’s match, with a hospitality package being my birthday treat. I promise to try and write it up soon. I did, in fact, do a resonable job of taking the day as it came and not thinking about my Nan.

Unfortunately, the price for that was that today I can’t stop crying. I spoke to my mum this morning, about the funeral arrangements (Monday 8th Oct, in Kent) and that set me off. I haven’t stopped since.

Billy has given me lovely cuddles, Raji and the kids are being gentle with me, and even the cats sense my sadness and have been sympathetic. Garfield, particularly, is not a softie lap-cat, but came and cuddled me after dinner and was unusually affectionate.

There are a handful of people in each of our lives, that love us as much as my Nan loved all of her family. She shared our secrets, hopes and dreams, and was the centre of our family wheel, even in these last few years. She enjoyed hearing about our lives and passing news on to the rest of the family and she never judged us, just enjoyed us for ourselves. I know that my sadness is for myself and my loss of a wonderful person, rather than sadness for her – it can only be a relief for Nanny to leave her struggles behind. It really shouldn’t hurt this much, especially as I’ve been half expecting it for so long. But it does. A lot. My world is a darker place without her, and I can’t bear it at the moment. I don’t know how to stop crying. I don’t know if I want to.

How much worse it must be for my Mum, and yet at the moment, we can’t be together to help the other through. As much as I am hurting and grieving, I need to bear it and help my mum bear it too. How do I do that? How can I contain all this pain and sadness and still function? But I must, and deep inside, I know I will.

It’s just that Nanny was one of the people I love most in this world and the flip side of love’s coin, is that of pain on parting. I just pray she is happy in heaven with my Grandad, who died almost 18 years ago and without whom we really didn’t think she’d manage for long.

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go–
Rest of their bones and souls’ delivery!
Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then?
   One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
   And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

John Donne

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