Grief as Medicine & Celebration of my Grandma
TW: Grief and loss of a loved one
I was at the beach the other day just reflecting and one particular realisation consumed me…My soul remembered how lucky I am to be human. To be able to feel the full spectrum of human emotions to every extreme.
To grieve the loss of my Grandma has been the first time I’ve actually properly grieved when a loved one has passed. I’ve actually allowed myself to fully feel it. To be messy. To be human.
I was walking along the beach listening to Enya. One of mine, my mum’s and my Grandma’s favourite artists (if you haven’t listened to her please do, she’s pure Irish magik). As I sat on the sand and wept, I starred up at the sky, palms up, surrendering to the grief. I got this sudden blissful download from spirit. It was a feeling of deep appreciation and admiration for humanness. How honoured I am to be here in this body on this sand with this magikal view.
That very moment inspired me to write to you. To share this wisdom, this remembrance.
Remember you ARE a human being. You are not merely a spirit, you are MEANT to feel deeply. You are meant to suffer, to wail in pain.
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES & VICTORIAN MUSINGS
I danced to Enya when I was little, still do. We all did, my 3 younger siblings and I. Enya holds so much childhood memory for me. Whenever I listen to her, I’m taken back in time to my childhood dancing in my Grandparents living room on a red and navy Persian rug. Grandma always had fabulous style. Both clothing fashion-wise and interior design-wise.
Mum actually told me yesterday that it was Grandma who chose the black and white chessboard tiles that floor the grand hallway in their house. The tiles are something from Alice in Wonderland, mysterious and peculiar. Apparently these were a popular choice in the Victorian era. In the middle of the hall is a large archway, and when we were little Pa would lift us up to kiss goodnight the statues that perch on either side of it.
Although my memories of Grandma are patchy due to my Complex PTSD, I do remember her being very eccentric, like me I suppose. She was always being silly, always updating me on the latest fashion. Always taking my sister and I clothes shopping at Urban Angels (country femmes will get it). She was a creative soul, an incredible cook and baker, a lover of antique furniture, roses, orchids and gardening, dolls and teddy bears, quilting, sewing, making mosaic art and scrapbooking. Anything crafty. She was so childlike, but she always had this wise look in her eye, like she knew something you didn’t.
I lived with my grandparents for 3 years from year 10-12 so I could go to a better school. Every night Grandma would waltz up the long hall and call out, “Gemkins dinner’s ready!” Although she wouldn’t really say it, she would sing it; her voice elegant, proper and theatrical.
My bedroom was elegant. Curtains stretched all the way from the intricate ceiling to the floor. A huge queen bed, an ornamental plaster ceiling and stunning chandelier stole the show. I was living my Victorian dream. There was an antique dresser in one corner with two dolls perched atop it. The most gorgeous vintage dolls you’ve ever seen. The desk was also antique made from rich dark mahogany, it was my study sanctuary. There was this clock on the wall that would tick loudly, I hated it so I took the batteries out every night before bed and when I would get home from school I’d find them back in the clock…
I truly believe their house ignited my love for antiques which perhaps comes from my past lives as well. I know I’ve lived several lifetims in the Victorian era. It’s my favourite era for fashion, architecture and interior design. It will certainly inspire the design of my house when I buy one.
She called me Gemkins or Gemstone. No one else calls me that. She had special names for everyone, it was her quirky little thing.
It’s hard without her. It’s hard to imagine never seeing her again. I hope I connect either her soul one day, but I have a feeling she’s moved on to her next lifetime.I wonder if we’ll meet again. Be friends or family in another life.
I’m not sure how long it takes for a soul to move into a new body. It’s something I want to learn more about. What happens?
I never used to fear death really but the last few months I’ve been so hyperaware of death since the genocide in Palestine began and my Grandma’s death. How easily our lives can be taken from us. How one second you can be alive and the next you’re not.