14/10/2023
finding it hard to do anything for myself atm, especially write. but I can always find the energy to write for other people. I know a eulogy is meant to be hard to write and it was definitely hard to stand up in front of everyone and read it, but honestly I just closed my eyes the day after she died, remembered, felt, listened and wrote. for my nan nan, may flower queen / life long queen and patron of silk shirts / L'Oréal elnette 🌹
Thinking about my nan, or nan nan as she insisted on being called, feeling it kept her young and fun (two things she never needed to worry about), there's so much to share. And while it's not going to be a perfect narrative of her life, or the order in which time passed, these are the snippets of what I've been remembering, the fragments that make up the whole, the things I'll cherish, the sounds, smells and memories I'll miss.
I remember her style; I thought she was so glamorous. Her hair always freshly permed, silky shirts teamed with smart coats, shoes and handbag matching. Fingers adorned with jewels from my grandpa. She always smelt like L'Oréal elnette, never went without it. When I got older sometimes she'd borrow my makeup - for shiny metallic eyelids or a shimmery lip gloss to complete the look.
I remember spending weeks every summer as a child in Lymington. Summer camp, except with my nan nan and grandpa, me sleeping over in the downstairs office. Eating sandwiches on perfectly white china plates. Always the soft flat white bread, slightly more curved at the edges, spread with salted lurpak. Bringing fish and chips home on Friday as a treat. Going shopping. We loved going shopping. Me, desperately and awkwardly trying to find a sense of style. Hoping to one day emulate her classic and chic looks.
I remember coming into the sitting room through the side door every time I visited. Seeing her and my grandpa nestled on the two comfy chairs there, her usually with a crossword puzzle. That we'd be greeted with such joy, ushered into the kitchen for teas, coffee and snacks, even though we had lunch in an hour's time. The collection of thimbles perfectly arranged on the trinket shelf. That she could sew and fix and mend and crochet, all the things I'm terrible at.
I remember the feeling of the thick beige carpet in the hallway, her particular need for things to be neat and tidy, that she'd often roll the carpet sweeper across the floor if too many feet had been through to use the toilet that day.
I remember holidays in Spain and France. Trips to the new forest. To the harbour. Fresh air, wind whipping around us, holding hands. London for the theatre and a wild ride back to the hotel in a rickshaw. Birthdays (we celebrate the same one, which means I never forgot, never will) and Christmases, where she always made me feel like the most special person in the world. I hope she knew how special she was.
I remember the way she'd say my name, she never ever called me Liz, always Elizabeth and for a while I minded, and then I didn't. I remember how she looked at me, that I could be saying the most inane thing, or have had no idea what I was doing with my life or having one of my many chaotic moments, but that she trusted I'd do well and even if I didn't she was forever proud of me, no matter what. I remember when I cut my hair off, the horror she didn't even try to hide, the relief when a few years later it grew long again. Tattoos are unfortunately a little more permanent.
I remember how she lit up a room, that she could be wry and cheeky, a secret joker at heart. Also the pride she took in herself. Sometimes refusing what would have made life easier. But being strong in her conviction. I remember how much she LOVED her garden. Another space she made perfect. Another way she expressed her creative care and attention to detail. In summer I'd through the sprinklers. "Help" with the watering. Later, when she spent less time gardening, she still loved sitting in the conservatory and watching the birds and squirrels. Her favourite bird, a wren. She saw a lot of the beauty in life. She had lots of favourites. She was one of mine and I will miss her so much.
