this time last year

It happened this time last year, the first day of my life that I bought and wore make-up, the day I'd decided not to let life get me down, to have a positive new start.

I remember thinking that her funeral was just another on a fucking conveyor belt. We walked into this side of the crematorium as the previous mourners walked out the other side. I remember being annoyed at how everyone got all religious now she was dead. I was pissed off at everything. I remember the vague sense of relief.

Mostly I remember hating hearing her life summed up. That she was born, that she worked at a grocers, and then at Woolworths, that she got married and had kids and was a member of this parish church and that her family grew and grew and that her husband died and she got sad, and then ill, and then died.

I remember thinking: fuck that. I remember her like this, in the letters sent back and forth between her and my grandad while he was in the army, the pictures of dad, Daisy, Ian that she sent out to him, how he used to finish his letters with 'I LOVE YOU' in capitals. I remember him standing in his uniform, the best looking guy in the regiment with this cheeky grin and his evil sense of humour. I remember her standing outside tenement halls with a baby on her hip, endlessly tolerant and frighteningly strong.

I remember the stick she carried, how my brother would be lippy and she'd hook it round his neck and scare the crap out of him. She had a sweetie cupboard in the hallway, always stocked, diet caffeine free coke and Penguin bars. We were never allowed fat coke at Granny's, but there was always a bowl of sweets by the TV. She had a crystal from the crystal maze in her cabinet, but I never found out why. She'd sit in her chair by the biggest window, nearest the TV like this: one elbow on the arm of the chair nearest the room, resting her head on it, watching the conversation. A lot of the time she'd just do that, the more of us there were the less she'd say, like she was just content to sit and listen to us, her tribe.

She laughed an awful lot, and she never gave in. She said she'd never leave that flat and she didn't. The last time I saw her I got bored of the conversation about people I'd never met and picked up one of her hundreds of books. The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn, a Morse mystery I think. When we left she told me to take it with me, she wasn't ever going to read it again. I don't think I did.

A few days before she'd been in hospital, mixing up people's names and not really knowing where she was. She thought my dad Charles was her husband Charles. She thought Charlotte was Gail and my brother was Ian. I walked in from getting a drink and she looked right at me and said my name. I felt guilty, why should she recognise me and not anyone else? I went and sat in the car, tried to think of a way to deal with this. I was annoyed at my family, at her for recognising me, at myself for not having the balls to stay and talk to her, I was furious with God. I sat and seethed for weeks until I was too tired to seethe anymore. Then I just gave up.

She didn't give up. They all commented in the hospital at what a feisty bird she was. I loved hearing them say that, proud to be her fiesty descendant.

The last time they took her into hospital the doctor came to lift her out of her chair by the window.

Gladys, can you tell us what your date of birth is? She doesn't know. And can you tell us what the date is? No, she can't. Can you tell us the names of your grandchildren? The name of your neighbour? Can you remember who the prime minister is?

The prime minister? Her eyes brighten, yes she can remember who the prime minister is. "Tony Blair," she spits at the doctor, "and he's no bloody good!"

This year, I'm doing things differently. I've had this time to feel bad, to feel angry, to take my mind off it. Time to put a stop to that. This year I'm gonna stop thinking about how bad last year was, stop whinging about how awful my nan's death made me feel and think about how incredibly proud I am that she was mine. That positive start I decided on this time last year, the one that I forgot about: I think I'll do it now instead, one year delayed, a key change, me being happy for once. Yeah... reckon she'd approve of that.