If you’re reading this post on its publish date (August 12th, 2024), it is exactly four years since my grandma passed away.
Four years and two days ago, my boyfriend and I got together.
This time in August is always very bizarre for me. Celebrating years of commitment and adoration to Aidan, remembering the day we finally did something about our feelings. But then looking back on the weeks that followed; how our honeymoon phase was suffocated in a blanket of grief.
Instead of popping in at Christmas or an official welcome dinner, Aidan met my extended family over funeral arrangements.
Four years on, the loss of my grandma - one of the most influential people in my life - still hurts. Waves of sadness ebb and flow.
Each day it gets easier, though; the pit in my stomach when I think about her is smaller, but still there. I can joke with my mum about whether I’ve brushed my hair or I’m eating enough (apparently the two things my grandma worried about most when it came to my welfare) despite doing both of those things.
We can talk about her quirks, namely saying “shut up, you” or “you little toad” when any of her grandchildren were being cheeky. Or singing songs from her favourite musicals when she’d had one too many (Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was typically first choice). Or her inability to make a good Yorkshire pudding, despite being one of the best home cooks you could ever meet.
And we can talk about her many, many valuable traits. Putting her grandchildren before anything and everything. Clearly loving us unconditionally (even if our hair did look unbrushed); pinching my cheeks and cooing, even when I got to 20 and stood a full head taller than her. Being an incredible cook. Loving any sport, the countryside and dogs, particularly golden retrievers and border terriers. Her defiance and fierce nature. Not being a regular grandma, but a cool grandma (aka, a real potty mouth).
We can talk about the hard times, too. When she received her Alzheimer’s diagnosis and we finally had the answer we’d been sure of for years. Watching her memory decline, and her personality dwindle.
Just a week before she passed away, in my mum’s garden, the last thing my grandma ever said to/about me was: “I like her, she’s my friend.” Then, as a woman with Alzheimer’s who didn’t quite understand the dangers of Covid, she told my nagging mum “shut up, you” as she hugged me goodbye. It’s something I will cherish until my last breath on this planet.
One of the greatest privileges of my life was to be loved by her, and to love her still.
The moment I knew I loved Aidan was within the first week of us “giving things a go”; if you can even call it that when one of you is in the hurricane of grief and the other is doing everything a devoted, long-term partner would do.
I was, naturally, crying over my grandma. Sat on the side of his bed, feet on the floor, full-blown sobbing. Aidan knelt down in front of me, held my hands, rubbed my back, just let me feel. He treated me like I was delicate as a petal.
It was a simple gesture, but the gentleness he did it with was like no other. I had never been shown such intimate care by a romantic partner, like he would whisk all of this away if he could.
In that moment among the grief and heartache and shock, I selfishly thought: “Maybe some part of her knew it was okay to go, because I would be alright.”
I am one of seven grandchildren. In reality that was 99.9% not the case, but part of me still believes it.
Four years on, Aidan has never stopped treating me like a precious gemstone. He is the most gentle soul I have ever met, and everyone I know adores him for it. He celebrates my wins, loves me through my losses, and lets me grow in all sorts of directions while being my number one cheerleader.
After I started cross-stitching last year with a measly kit from Hobbycraft, he bought me a book of 100 small designs to follow, along with a needle minder and silicon thimbles. When I took up Substack, he celebrated all the small wins with me and when I reached the amazing milestone of 100 subscribers… well, you know what happened…
He listens, cares, and knows me probably better than I know myself. I feel seen with him. He is my best friend.
One of the most blessed things for me is how much Aidan and my grandpa (grandma’s husband) get along. Aid gets on with all of my family, but he and my grandpa can spend an entire Sunday on the sofa watching football, talking about different players and transfers and clubs. My grandpa will tell him stories of his past and Aidan will engage and ask questions with such genuine interest. They just get on, with zero effort required. It makes me feel like my grandma knows and loves Aid, too.
And Aidan knows and loves her; we certainly talk about her enough. I just wish the two of them had the pleasure of each other’s company, just once.
So while this time in August is extremely bittersweet, it’s also a reminder of the love I have for two very important people in my life, and just how wonderful their love is/was in return.
Soph this made me well up! When I lost my grandma it was the dullest ache. Having someone there to support you through that grief is vital, and Aidan sounds like a real gem. Even now, I feel like I have conversations with my grandma in my head, she's so ingrained in me that it's like I know exactly what she'd say and think. They leave part of themselves behind in us! I think that's such a wonderful thing. I know it's only Tuesday but this is my favourite thing I've read this week. Thanks so much for being vulnerable Soph!
I feel your love for both of them in your writing and in your comment ❤️ and thank you as well for your kind words. I too am so lucky to be loved :)