Living for the little things
It’s ironic that this day falls on the start of “Mental Health Week” (don’t get me started on the shallowness of this), especially as I’ve spent a lot of this morning sobbing while sat on the floor. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too bad. Today is the anniversary of my Nan passing away, and as I realised the evening before, it’s been 9 years since we last had her with us: something that came as a bit of a shock. Where has that time gone?
I’ve been thinking lately about learning to find joy in the everyday. My little girl, Roo, has a book called ‘Thank you for the Little Things,’ which I never really connected to before, but recently, the idea of finding joy in the (so called) ‘mundane’ keeps being repeated to me in various forms.
For most of my life, I’ve lived for the next big moment: the next school holiday, the next exciting trip somewhere, the next birthday, Christmas etc. While it’s nice to have something to look forward to, it somewhat devalues the beauty that can be found in the small things, like a nice cup of coffee; reading a good book in the bath; watching my children play and hearing them laugh; spending time discussing a film or series with my husband; acts of service, like cooking a meal for someone that you know they’re going to really love. In only focusing on those far off events, I’m missing out on what’s happening before my very eyes. I don’t want to get down the road and not be able to remember these moments, particularly of the girls, as they’re growing up too fast.
I wanted to write a note to my Nan to tell her about the things we’re getting up to, but also to show how she found her joy in the little things, too.
Valerie,
I can’t believe nine years have gone by since you went away. This year, even, has just disappeared before our eyes - Riley is here now and has been for two months. How is that possible?
It’s almost the end of spring, your favourite season. As you’d always say, “Don’t cast a clout ‘til May is out,” and true to form, we’ve had single-digit temperatures, plenty of rain and then beautiful sunny days, like this weekend.
I’ve been planting up our garden, experimenting with what I put in, like you did. You always made your garden look beautiful. I remember you in the flowers, as I dig the earth and try to create something beautiful that lives, and evolves and grows, like you used to - not just in your garden, but in your family.
I see you in Ruby: she has your curly hair and your stormy blue-grey eyes. She’s fiercely independent, like you, too. I wonder how much of you Riley will hold. I never thought so before, but the older I get, the more of you I see in my own face and expressions. You were a matriarch to your children and grandchildren, and by your example, I will strive to be the same for my own.
I wish you’d got to meet them. You’d have delighted in them as you did us, I’m sure. I wish you’d had a chance to get to know Dave better - you have so much in common, despite your differences. I wish you’d have gotten to see me get married and grow in relationship with this kind, loving and forthright man.
I miss you more than words can express. My heart aches just thinking about you and it feels unfathomable that you’re no longer here with us. I want our late night sessions where we sat and watched our favourite shows, and laughed and ate cereal together.
We fought sometimes about stupid things, like music, art and tattoos. It’s silly, but I’m desperate to get a tattoo to remember you, even though you hated them - not to spite you, but to indelibly honour and mark your existence so I can never forget. I will never forget your tenacity, bravery and grit, but also your grace and kindness, sentiments that you afforded so many, with your bright demeanour and laughter.
You found happiness in watching your grandchildren grow and actively helped to raise me; whether we’d just got in the door or it was boiling hot outside, you’d always say “Let’s have a nice cup of tea, eh?”; you’d somehow manage to paint and draw lovely works of art in a couple of hours at your art group; something you heard would just tickle you and you’d set us off giggling along with your infectious laugh. I miss that laugh. Even when you faced adversity, you still found the ability to smile.
The world is lesser having lost your light in it. I will try every day to put a little bit of you back into it in all that I do. It needs more lights like you.
- -
Jxx
