01/03/2026
Yesterday marked 26 years since my Popop died. My Mum's Dad.
James Joseph Carr. He loved gardening, pudding, his family, travelling, learning new things, and singing in a Festival Choir.
This is her altar to honour his memory, express her love, and keep their connection alive.
We both remember bright blue sky and big clouds on the morning he died.
I was in the first year of my nurse training, and had driven from London to Oxford to spend the weekend with him at the hospice. I slept next to him holding his hand, and on Monday morning, quietly slipped out of the room at 5am to drive back to London for lectures.
I paused at the foot of his bed, watching him sleep. Loving him intensely. I quietly thanked him for being my Popop. I remember that moment so clearly.
I planned to drive back down again that afternoon - we knew the end was close.
No sooner than my bottom had touched my chair in the lecture theatre, my phone rang. It was my Mum. He'd just died.
On the Tube through London, 2 changes, sitting behind a large newspaper, crying. Wondering how people could just be going about their lives so normally when my world had just been tipped upside-down.
My boyfriend driving us down the M40. Massive clouds scudding across the bright blue sky. Thinking, what a beautiful day to die.
Finally arriving at the hospice and into the arms of my family. Cups of tea. Hugs. Sitting with my Popop for a while. Holding his hand. Talking to him. Thinking he didn't look quite right and then realising what it was - the nurses had done his hair wrong!
He was the 1 consistent and grounded male presence in my life for 25 years.
And 26 years later, sometimes my grief still feels as deep and raw as it did that day. But mostly now, it feels like glitter.