I don't know how to write this today - or if I'll even publish it. My Granny (she was particular about the title) passed away yesterday. My Mum was with her, and I'm not quite sure how I should respond.
I'm sad, of course, and upset; I feel for my Mum, who may have had a sometimes difficult relationship with her, but clearly loved her and feels her parting keenly, and my Aunt; but I tend to be very English at times like these (not a complement by the way), I tend to get my head down and carry on - not out of duty or stoicism, but more to do with a sense of awkwardness.
This is not the place for a discussion of Granny's life and person, nor do I have the right to discuss her. She was my Granny, I loved her and I owe her for parts of myself and my Mother. This is a place where I can reflect on the effect and affect of passing-on. It is a reminder of mortality, of what we make of our lives; of how we choose to live and to use our lives. Regardless of faith, we are mortal, regardless of how tired we get, we eventually run out; how then can we finish our races knowing we have not spent too long resting?
Today I find there are a lot of questions I can't answer. I can provide platitudes and truisms, but I am no priest, no wise man. I painted an image that stuck with me last night; it is raw, unrefined, and seeks more than it finds. Maybe in transforming it from a sketch to a painting I'll find more; but for now it is a stone cast into the pond and I wait for ripples to spread outward.
This is all I can offer today. The quiet, the reflection - a moment of memory, of silence.