safety net

scrambling without one

I’ve never wanted to call my gran and hear her voice on the end of the phone more than at this moment. The realisation that I can’t feels like a sharp slap in the face, and a spreading of pain. Nowhere is left untouched. Then, I begin to feel very far away from myself. As if watching my movements play out on a grainy black and white tv screen, looking on as I prod and poke my flesh carelessly just to prove that there’s still life in me. I’m not sure anymore.

I’ve had exactly this same chain of thought countless times. The one that comes with a specific nipping feeling in the centre of my stomach, and an anvil like weight plummeting through my chest, pulling me down, down. The hopelessness that is all consuming.

Over 5 years have passed, and still the grief is just as potent - if not more so. Or maybe is just present in my daily life in ever-changing, unexpected ways. It still takes me by surprise, the times it surfaces, catches me off guard. The comfort she gave me was and will remain unmatched, and in so many moments, there’s nobody else I need or want to go to. Only her. The relief, to be held by her. To have her wrap her arms around me and squeeze, is the therapy I’m desperate for. Letting the tears fall as I remember the sensation of her soft cheek against mine, her warm inviting embrace, the shoulder I’d melt into. The cluster of laughter lines on the right side of her face. Her hair products, her deodorant, her perfume. Her vibrant laugh, ringing out around me. Filling every corner of any room. The watch she gave me at 8 years old. All the coins pressed hurriedly into my fingers on almost every interaction, clasping my hand tightly, as if someone would snatch them from us. Or snatch the moment away. We squeezed something out of every minute together. Every time we slow danced, swaying away our worries with each song, my grin so wide I’d feel the corners of my mouth begin to split. Cherishing the feeling of relaxing into her grasp. Everything around us softening, blurring. Nothing else mattered. Each of these memories embossed on every surface of my mind; a wall to wall gallery of her beauty. All the facets of her, still so alive there. Sometimes too alive. As much as I can’t bear to forget, the loss feels all the more jarring when I come crashing out of my imagination, and back down to this reality. One that without her is almost soulless, arbitrary, everything dampened. As though things only truly exist, or as though I only truly exist, with her here to witness me.

I don’t know where to put this, but it needs to come out. So I put it down here to preserve, to leave little traces of her. I know she wouldn’t want to be forgotten. To remind myself of her magic, and to let others know. To let myself grieve the most loving relationship I’ve ever had. There’s more to be said, but I have plenty of time to articulate it. I might write her some letters. I think they’d start:

thank you for seeing me, to my core. for always giving me a soft place to land. for showing me what love really means.