{Girl Behind The Lens} 3-Years On, and I still cry...

This blog has been on my mind all day. I’ve come home from being with James and taking him to work (stupid night shifts) grabbed my laptop and rushed upstairs. I didn’t want to wait until it was too late to write this blog, nor did I want to write it in the company of my mum.

You see, I’m not sure I can get to the end of this blog post without any tears falling from my eyes. Or if I do it will be with a very big lump in my throat. And the reason for this? Its 3-years on Sunday (2^nd October 2011) since my Nan passed away.


My Nan was fabulous. I never just said that after she died, I said that a hell of a lot before. I was born just after the miners strike of ‘84, money was tight, dad was not bringing any money in, and Mum spent a lot of time there when she was pregnant. And they had a good relationship. Nan played a heavy part in my life from being born. Granddad is disabled so we spent a lot of time there, and went on holiday as a unit of 5. Nan, Granddad, Mum, Dad and I.

When I was about 3, my nan had a deep vein thrombosis due to smoking that wasn’t apparently caught in time by her GP at the time. This resulted in her having her leg amputated and being confined to a wheelchair even though she had a prosthetic leg. I remember her being in the hospital. I remember the nurses giving me one of those paper hats they used to wear. I remember asking if they had put her leg in a black bin liner for the dustbin men (how was I meant to know what they did with it). I remember the district nurse visiting her at home, and watching and looking and telling my Nan how her wound was healing. (I was obviously not bothered at all by gore when I was younger!).

Through the years, the Wheelchair didn’t stop Nan, she would go places. Get a taxi, ask mum to take her. We all complained when people talked to her like she was stupid. She lost her leg, not her marbles. She was tenacious. She said what she thought, and if she thought you were wrong she’d tell you. And people wonder where I get it from.

My Nan taught me that life makes you a fighter. That sometimes its ok to feel a bit shit, like you think you life is going no-where. But you just need to dust yourself off and get on with it. My nan was a glass half full person.

I remember when Nan got diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Due to her weak heart, the medication she was on for her terrible arthritis they couldn’t operate. They treated it with hormones. And it shrunk it. It was manageable. But it wasn’t gone.

She was in an out of hospital, but the last time she was admitted to the hospital, we didn’t think that she would never come out. Somehow, somewhere along the line I feel cheated. Cheated that she didn’t get to see the things that she should have. Cheated that she should have seen me set up in photography and doing so well. Cheated that any kids I may have will never know her….but I’ll make sure I tell them all about her.

We went on holiday, before it she wished me happy birthday and wanted to know what I was getting etc and to have a good time. We went away for a week. Upon our return and my mums birthday some 2 weeks after mine, she wasn’t co-coherent.

The Doctors took us to onside, told us they had found a mass on her bowel, that it was more than likely Diverticulitis, it can happen when you get older. They were transferring her to the rehabilitation centre. That centre was known with the generation above her, as the place that they sent you to die. Her mum had died there. And it would seem that so would she.

We had meetings with the doctors about her rehabilitation, about when they would be moving her from a singular room to a 4-room and starting her on exercises to start her getting better. But it didn’t happen.

Mum and I were meant to be going for a weekend away to Scotland. Dad was going to Blackpool. Mum did the afternoon visit to the hospital on the Friday, and I did the Evening. I pulled a nurse to one side and asked how my Nan was because I was shocked by her deterioration from the day before (Mum had said she was fine) nothing ever prepares you for the shock, and the anger, and upset. When you find out that you have been lied to. The Nurse told me that they had argued she was too ill to move when they had moved her. She had bowel cancer. There was nothing they could do.

I remember her telling me, and not crying. I remember walking through the hospital with a lump in my throat but refusing to cry. I got into the car and broke down. Did Mum know? What if she didn’t know? How was I going to tell her that her mum was going to die. I had to tell her. I did. And then we had to tell my Granddad.
I remember the things that happened from then on it. The MacMillan Nurses, the stupid conversations we had with her about Ainsley Harriot being a white man (seriously, his roots are from white-British) to the town hall being lit up pink for breast cancer awareness month.

She was stubborn my Nan, she would do things her way or not at all. I remember once her refusing to go into one of the other nursing homes because she didn’t know anyone in there. They either sent her to the one she wanted to go to, or sent her home. Oh she got her own way she did!

She went on an End of Life Care plan. The same day I called the Funeral Director and asked what happened when she died. The nurses kept a very good eye on her. And called us at the slightest change. We rang around everyone and got people to come visit. I remember seeing my mums cousin, in her prison gear, standing there completely heartbroken. My nan held a lot of people together and touched a lot of hearts, she was a strong willed woman. God only knows!

Its been 3-years since she went, and it just feels like yesterday. My heart aches everyday, and I wish I could speak to her. I wish she could tell me what I’m doing. I wish she was here to support me. I just wish she hadn’t gone.

I would have loved her to have met James. I know she would have liked him. I know she’d be proud of what I’ve done. That we’re moving in together. That the business is doing so well that Her and Granddad supported my dreams of doing (photography as second shooter) I set up on my own one-year after she had died. The business will be two soon.

My nan had such a influence on me. She was like a mum to me. (I was closer to her than Mum, I could tell my Nan anything, where as I cant with mum, and she knows this) Loosing Nan didn’t really bring Mum and I closer, at one point it pushed us further and further apart.
I have a tattoo on my wrist that says “Everything Happens For A Reason” but I’m still searching for the reason my Nan was taken from me.
I do however know that her stubbornness, her awkwardness, her friendliness and her tenacious attitude are all attributes that I got from her.
She was an amazing woman. I just wish she was still here.
3-Years ago she went away….and time doesn’t make it any easier.

And if you are wondering. I didn’t make it to the end without any tears….