This is my first post of 2022 and I wish you all a happy New Year.
My Granny Joan died when I was 11 years old. I didn’t really understand death at that time, even though I had already read books like Salem’s Lot and The Stand, both by Stephen King. I didn’t realise the permanence of my loss.
During my recent road trip, I visited George in the Western Cape. This was the town where my Granny Joan lived out her last years and died. I lived in George for two years when I was 10 and 11. I tried to find her grave. There are three graveyards and I wasn’t sure which was the right one. I managed to track it down on the internet, but sadly it was locked when we visited. The office that had the key was closed as it was the week after New Year. South Africa only gets going again next week.
I never shed tears
When I learned of her passing
I didn’t understand
I’ve kept my unvented grief
Tightly wrapped up inside me
My mother says I am a romantic and shouldn’t mind not seeing Granny’s grave. But I do mind. I wanted to lay flowers on her grave to let her know I remember her.