18 years since my Mary died: a loss I still feel every day.

For years she called me “my one and only”. As other grandchildren arrived she tactfully shifted that to “my first”. When it was just the two of us, she said “I wish you were my son”. Whatever she called me, l always knew that she truly loved me. That I was special to her - and she knew that she was special to me. 

My Nan - my Mary - held a giant space in my life which meant that when she died - over 18 years ago, aged just 74 - I experienced the deepest sadness and sense of loss. It was the first time I sought out therapy - which proved hugely helpful. Her death, alongside Hillsborough, remains my most significant, deep experience of grief. The opportunity to talk with a therapist at that time about what she meant to me and all the feelings that her death brought up was invaluable and at times surprising. Her loss brought into focus my feeling towards the rest of my family and the world around me. It made me think differently about what I wanted out of life and what was important to me. 

Her death had a profound impact on me then (I was 26)and has continued to impact me since. I still think about her every day and talk about her with my wife and daughter, both of whom sadly never got the chance to meet her and experience her extraordinary personality - and sharp tongue. I see her framed picture in our house every day and give a quiet nod to her when I find myself saying something I know she would have said or thought, usually involving colourful language! 

I have so may memories of being with her in Finch Lane and talking to her (with howls of laughter), including the sad memories of her sickness and decline in hospital. I remember like it was yesterday being asked by a nurse who was looking after her if I could try to insert a tube into her nose so they could treat her - she wouldn’t let them do it but said she would let me. As I fed the tube into her nose she held me hand and I kissed her forehead. She was not a great hugger or kisser but she she knew she was dying and that we were running out of time. Although that memory and the smells and feelings of those moment remain visceral, they are also a source of comfort and peace. I was there for her in that moment as she had been for me so many times - times that no-one knew about. 

The Queen’s death this week has brought up feelings of loss and grief up for many, many people, myself included. Grief and loss are complicated and tricky subjects and our reactions to the death of someone close, distant, or even unknown to us can bring up a whole series of emotions, some of which we find hard to reconcile with the actual loss in front of us. The Queen’s death this week provided a reassuring reminder that my nan meant everything to me. She was the centre of my world. 

At her funeral I delivered the eulogy - ordered by Mary in the days before she died: “you get on that altar and do me proud”. In closing my speech to a packed St Dominic’s Church, I said: “The hole in our lives is massive now. We just thank God that she filled it for us for so long”. In the near two decades since she died, that whole remains massive and unfilled. Time takes the edge off the daily sadness but does not fill the hole her death left. I don’t believe anything ever will and I’m ok with that. I know that is the result of how much she meant to me. I know that is because I meant so much to her too. My nan. My Mary. My queen. My loss is a source of comfort now not sadness. I would miss it if it went away.