There's been a few incidents in my life which I will never forget, and the day I found out about my granny's death is certainly one such incident. The memories are as vivid now as they were a month ago. I can still hear Phyllis' voice, barely able to form the words that there was something she had to tell me. I can still hear my screams as I hopped and fell out of the bed. I can still feel the carpet scratching my face as I lay on the landing and howled. I can still remember how numb I felt as I lay across the sofa waiting to be collected to go to the house. I can still feel the hug my da gave me, the first hug I think we've ever had. I can still hear the silence as I entered the house. I am still pained by the lump which had formed in my throat as I walked up the stairs to see my granda who had sat beside my granny all morning. I can still remember the look on her face and the position of her body as she lay in the bed. I can't forget and I can't understand.
I had never seen a dead body before, and to be honest, it's not something I'll be rushing out to do again. When I got collected to be brought up to the house, I had no intention of seeing Trisha in bed. Sorry but why would anyone want to see a dead person in their bed? I was only in the house a few minutes, and my auntie came down and told me my granda was up there waiting on me. I nearly got sick. I had to go up now. He was waiting on me. So I went. And I can't begin to tell you how happy I am that I did take that trip upstairs. I suppose I never really thought of my granny dying, but if I had of, I certainly wouldn't have imagined her dying in her sleep. I was afraid to go up and see her as I wasn't sure what condition she'd be in. To be honest, part of me thought it was all an elaborate joke and that she'd be wide awake in the bed when I got upstairs. That wasn't the case. Me and my granda just sat beside the bed for a while. I couldn't talk for the lump in my throat and my poor granda was in shock. He told me the story of how he found her, and although I had heard it already, I wanted to hear it from him. He then left me alone with her while he went in and got changed. Not gonna lie, I was shit scared at first, but eventually I became less scared and sat on the bed beside her.
This is the part where I begin to lose my mind.
I was looking at her and couldn't comprehend that she was dead. Like, I knew she was dead, but I just didn't understand how she could be dead. I touched her and nearly got frostbite. I tried lifting her hand and nearly pulled a muscle. I had never felt a lifeless body before, and it's mad what a bit of life can do to you. Although everyone had told me she was dead, and I knew myself she was dead, I still wasn't satisfied that she was dead. So I tried to wake her. I began nudging her and asking her to wake up please. I began to tickle her toes in the hope she'd eventually burst out laughing. And then I put my face close to hers, hoping she'd jump up, scream boo and scare me to death. This did not happen. She was dead. I tried to wake her once again in the funeral home, but again, I couldn't. I look back to that week and can't comprehend the carry on of me. Trying to wake a confirmed dead person seems like something I should be carted off for. But at the time I was certain I was going to bring her back to life. I felt like if anyone could do it, it was going to be me. And I actually feel like a bit of a failure because I couldn't bring her back.
It's hard to know what the hardest part was. Was it when the ambulance men closed the kitchen door so we wouldn't have to see them carrying her body out of the house? Was it when she was in the morgue for two days and we couldn't see her and just had to look at each other? Was it when family and friends started arriving at the house? Was it when we finally got to see her in the funeral home? Was it when I minded her in the coffin the day before the funeral knowing it was the last time I would ever get to be alone with her? Was it when they wheeled the coffin into the hearse? Was it when we followed the coffin down the road, and passed by the house? Was it pulling into the church grounds and seeing everyone looking at you, not knowing what to do or say? Was it following the coffin up the aisle and placing her photo on top of it? Was it during the funeral when I knew that the mass was coming to a close and it was all going to end soon? Was it reading from the alter and looking up to see a packed church full of people who loved my granny? For me, the hardest part was the last one. I was so overwhelmed to see the turn-out at the funeral that I couldn't finish the last line of my poem. I don't know what the story with this is, but the last time I cried was when I looked up during my poem, and now I find myself crying as I remember that moment. I think for me, sharing my grief is so important. I don't want to be alone in my grief. I want to talk about my granny and her life and death with others. And I suppose looking up and realizing that I am not the only one who is sad brought me to tears.
My granny died a sudden death. And by sudden I mean, literally, SUDDEN. I think that's what the hardest thing for me to comprehend. If she had of been sick, and we knew that she wouldn't have long left, at least I would have begun to think about the possibility of being without her. But when your granny is up in Northside on a Saturday and then she's dead the Sunday, it can be a bit of a confusing time. In some ways I am thankful that my granny didn't suffer over a long period of time, and that me and my family didn't have to suffer watching her suffer over that time. In other ways, all you want is 5 more minutes. 2 at a push. But I'll never get those minutes and it is hard to accept. The finality of death is still something I am coming to terms with. I know she's not coming back, but there's still a tiny part that hopes she might make an appearance one day.
I'm not overwhelmed by sadness since my granny died. She was 82 when she died and by jaysus did she have a good life. You can't move for pictures of foreign holidays. If she wasn't in Spain, she was on a country break. If she wasn't in town with her sisters, she was off in the pictures with her friends. If she wasn't having a latte in Costa, she'd be having a half portion in the Cock and Bull. If she wasn't here, she was there. And now I like to think she's everywhere. It's sad that she's not around anymore, but when you look back on her life, I mean, I don't know how much more she could have fit in. Her life was something that is to be celebrated, and if I can, emulated. My granny was a great fan of God and she's certainly a woman that got a first-class ticket to heaven. Over the days following her death, the amount of times I heard "Your granny was the nicest woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing", "Your gran Pat never said a bad word about anyone", "Trisha was the most pleasant women I have ever met, never complained and loved you all so much". This is the usual shite you hear when people die, and usually I roll me eyes at it when I hear it about others. Not that I'm doubting their niceness, but that we need to calm down a bit, they weren't all saints. It actually sickens me to say this, but I can swear, hand on my heart, may I drop dead this second, that whatever anyone said about my granny was true. She was the nicest woman you could ever meet. She never spoke a bad word about anyone. She never complained (except in hotels and when she bought stuff that didn't suit the house - there's a great story about the lino being fitted and then removed because my granny didn't like it). And it sickens me to say this because it hasn't rubbed off on me. God knows what they're going to say at my funeral.
From the Sunday she died, until the Thursday she was buried, I was in a frenzy. Things had to be done, I had to do things, I had to find things to do, had to keep busy. However, I also needed to take the time and sit down and just be. I wanted to be in the moment and really remember it. I didn't want to look back and forget everything. This was something that I want to remember for the rest of my life. I wanted to make sure I accepted my feelings and didn't dismiss anything. I had a bit of an existential crisis, and began to question my own life. During this time, some things became so much clearer to me, but other things are still a bit foggy. It took my granny dying for me to realize what I actually have in this world, and how bittersweet that realization was.
Say not in grief that she is no more
but say in thankfulness that she was.
A death is not the extinguishing of a light,
but the putting out of the lamp
because the dawn has come.
