A peice of writing about my gran (I got 2nd in a school writing comp?1?!)
Ok so this is a piece of writing about my gran! I did it for an assignment and when I made my English teacher start crying I decided to submit it for a school writing comp! My homeroom teacher is also an English teacher, and while sitting in class today after exams finished waiting for the bus (I had to sit there by myself for 3 hours GUH) she told me! she also told me while reading over it, her and the other English teacher she was with both cried 😭 she also asked me if it was based on something that happened and when I told her yes, she gave me a hug.
Anyways, here you go!:
- Ko te pouri he aroha kāore he wāhi e haere ai -
“Grief is just love with no place to go.”
The dread and sorrow of his words thumped at me like a hammer, smashing me until I fell to the ground. I could see it in his face, hear it in his voice, it was a pained look, and a strained quiver of speech. He tried to comfort us, he wrapped us up in a hug as big as a bear, but it felt cold, it felt sympathetic, I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted it to all be ok. I wanted to escape, I wanted to wake up. I pinched myself over and over, begging the universe to wake me up and for him to tell me everything was ok. But I didn’t wake up then, I never did. I screamed even louder than I already was, our sharp cries of agony, of regret, of memories we did, and could have shared. Not anymore. She was leaving us. Gone forever like a piece of sand lost in the continuous waves of the sea. Gone like a wilted flower that had descended into the earth. Grief rocked me, and then I was at her house. Her mum was there, she hugged me, we cried and cried until we had no tears left, she was so far away, so, so far away, and there was nothing we could do to fix it. No amount of money we could pay to save her. No amount of pain or prayers that would help. No amount of tears we shed would be enough to heal the damage. That sense of loss, of grief, would leave a hole in my heart that could never be explained, nor cured.
I was on a plane, the sun was slowly rising over the fluffy, candyfloss like clouds that were laid out underneath us. I watched as the sky slowly turned from black, to blue, purple, pink, and then blue. I felt lucky, too lucky, but unlucky at the same time. I was grateful I was able to say goodbye, but I was heartbroken that it happened in the first place. As the sky finally turned a light, radiant blue, and the sun beamed down on us, we descended through the sky. I was nearly there.
As I stepped into the house, her house, the house I grew up in, the house I called a second home, I shivered. The stairs she had lay at the bottom of just weeks ago, the dog she was leaving behind, the bathroom that was newly renovated that she would never be able to experience, it hit me like a bullet. I would never laugh with her here again, never taste her signature meringue, or scold her when she had a puff after a glass of wine. She was never going to set foot in this house again, this house, the house that was killing her.
She was laying still, mouth and eyes slightly ajar, her cheeks were sunken in, her breath slow and careful. I pressed my lips against her forehead, flinching at how cold she was. “ You're so brave” My mother told me, a tear slipped down my cheek, blurring my vision, I gently brushed her still pink tinged hair through my fingers, before turning my back and wobbling out of the room that smelled of death. A long hug, and louder cry, we sat, chatting about how I was going to school, I hadn’t seen her in weeks, and him too. I blubbed like a seal about how different she looked than how she did back then, where her cheeks were full and plump, and her bright pink lipstick smiled at me. Her hair was fuller and brushed, and her warm embrace engulfed me. I must remember her for who she was, not what I saw just once. But it's hard.
The stained glass and flowers, the smell of nectar and tears filled my nose. The red eyes, warm hugs and condolences as we greeted the people. The sound of the organ as we sang, our hearts bursting to fill the emptiness. Our grief, our love, our memories, shared to one another as we listened and talked, as we walked out, the weight of her life in a wooden box that I carried, that we placed in the car. The smell of rosemary as we wept, hugging each other as we waited for everyone to place the flower on the coffin, the pain of pressing a single button, knowing I would never see her again. I can’t visit the memories yet, but one day I will, and I will laugh and cry, but I will always remember the rosemary.
“Ko te pouri he aroha kāore he wāhi e haere ai”, grief is just love with no place to go.
it has a bit of Maori in it, which is a native language!
I hope you enjoyed! ❤
