You don’t know this, but I have a thing about pillows.
I like them.
A lot.
So much in fact that when we were cleaning out Nan’s house, I ended up with all of the pillows. Seems Nan liked having lots of spare pillows about too.
We used her spare pillows to pack the furniture as we moved it, shoving them into glass cabinets and between things to prevent breakages. They did their job and nothing broke.
Today, I found 4 pillows on the floor of my bedroom, all sans pillow cases – it seems Amy likes naked pillows as much as she likes her naked self. I picked them up and went hunting for pillow cases.
Thinking about it, I remembered that out in the shed, there were more pillows, packed still into the glass cabinet that’s in storage here. It’s coming up to winter now, the weather is cold and the cats have a plethora of mice that they can’t kill fast enough.
Side note: It’s probably not going to be that long until you start seeing posts like this. and this. and this and this and this.Wow, seems I wrote a lot about mice last year.
I went out into the shed and unpacked all of the pillows, not wanting the mice to start nesting in them.
One, two, three, four, five, six pillows, packed into the cabinet.
6 pillows.
I rummaged around in the shed and brought inside anything else that I thought mice might find interesting, then I came inside to put pillow covers on all of the pillows.
You know, almost 9 months on, those pillows, they still smell like my grandmother.
And that kinda sucks.
***
I have Nan’s overcoat sitting in the back of my closet. Despite hanging around with my clothes, it still smells like her perfume. Every now and again, I’ll lean in and breathe in her smell.
Then, I’ll take a deep breath and walk away; back to my daily chores, back to the blogosphere; back to life.
I’m not sure what I’ll do when it doesn’t smell like her anymore.
***
A few months ago, maybe month 6, maybe month 7, I stopped talking about Nan. It hurt too much, there were too many tears unshed and so I just stopped.
I dragged my brain away from thoughts of her and refused to think about it.
At all.
Mostly, this works for me.
I don’t have to think about her, or speak about her, or cry anymore.
But, it’s funny. Still, most days, fuck, every day – something will happen and it will run through my head like a litany.
I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan.
In time to my heartbeat; in time to my breathing.
Because I do. I miss her so badly it hurts.
I just don’t talk about it anymore.
It’s been almost nine months.
