butterflies, kale, green beans and spinach

When my grandad died several years ago, a butterfly became synonymous with that moment. as we walked into the funeral, a butterfly lay on the window. As we left, it left with us. From that moment on, a butterfly was a sign of hope for us, but mostly for my gran.

Two days ago she died, the same way my grandad did. A shock, out of the blue.

The girl from ammanford and the boy from London.

She was stubborn, incredibly cheeky and caring.

My favourite memory of her is from a year ago. We went to see her in hospital, and instead of writing her serious allergies, she told the hospital she was allergic to kale, green beans and spinach. Only because she didn’t want them in her Sunday lunch. But that was gran. A 4'9" woman who was not only cheeky but loved people.

I got to see her three weeks ago. I’d made some elderflower cordial and took her some. She beamed when she saw me, and told me how happy she was to see me. We spoke about excersise during lockdown, me doing strongman and her doing Joe Wicks for seniors (she didn’t like being called old) and how she’d got to grips with zoom so she could still attend church.

Whenever I meet someone who knew her, they would always say how lovely she was and how kind she had been.