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#009 Family on the Other Side
Sep. 27th, 2017 09:40 pmToday I listened to a lot of paranormal podcasts as I did work and I thought family who have moved over would make a good topic for me to write about. It's also nearly October so! As a follower of the Shinto faith and being Pagan I try my best to honour my ancestors, both recent and before we have records of. I want to work on a kind of family history book for myself, and maybe to pass on to my nephew or my sisters. I also have a shrine for my ancestors which I pray at and make offerings.
I have three grandparents in the spirit world at the moment, two maternal and one paternal. My remaining paternal grandparent is my dad's mum. Out of these, the first to pass was my paternal grandfather. His name was Wilfred Raymond Jones and he lived in Caergwrle, North Wales. He passed over in 1997 and I believe it was related to a heart condition. I was around 11 at the time and I really didn't take it well. He was the first big loss I ever experienced and I was shaken to the very core.
I only saw him maybe once a week but he was a lot of fun and a lovely man. I remember making up games with him and my sisters, we watched and counted cars together and he loved seeing my drawings. His brother Keith, an avid birdwatcher would often come over too and also encouraged my drawing skills. We used to go on long walks together with his dog, Nero. I don't remember too much about him sadly, only that he loved animals, worked hard and loved kippers! He would stink out the kitchen making them! I loved them too as a kid but after his passing I just wasn't really able to eat them as much. I know he was in the army but I'm not sure what he did. I know that when he died his coffin had a bunch of medals and stuff on. I should probably research about it before my nana dies...
The second of my grandparents to go was my nana, Winnifred Margaret Martin. This... was the hardest of all three deaths. My nana literally raised me, she was like a mum to me. I am still very much in contact with her through dreams and mediumship but it's not the same. I was born by c-section and my mum told me that she didn't connect with me at all as a baby. And then when I was only a few months old, mum ended up in hospital and I was put into the care of my grandmother. Where was my dad? Probably off cheating on mum. Anyways, I formed a very strong bond with my nana and I loved her like one would love a mother. I didn't connect with mum as much (and this explains the BPD and also my problems with mum later in life).
I did everything with nana, and she raised me as well as she could. My fondest memories are with her and grandad in their garden or in their living room playing games. All through her life nana had illnesses - she had polio as a kid, constant back pain and hip pain and was told she'd never walk again as a teenager. But she did. And she went on to walk until the day she died. She refused to let illness get to her and tried her best for my family. And that's... where it went wrong it seems.
Her death was particularly tragic to all of us.
At the time my grandad, George Dennis Martin had started to suffer symptoms of Alzheimers and it was incredibly upsetting. He was no longer himself and had reverted to childish ways - pick-pocketing, hitting on young people, all sorts of weird behaviours. This wasn't him. Grandad was a strong, amazing, creative and artistic man who was romantic to his beloved wife and caring to his family. My nana was frustrated - I understand now it was mourning for her husband. But she was determined to stay by his side, even when he didn't recognize her, even when he was in a care home and needed even the simplest of tasks doing for him. She looked after him as if it was nothing to her, as if it didn't upset her that her husband was so ill. Nana became visibly tired, her hair becoming more pale, getting skinnier.
And then, one morning my mum was driving to work and had an overwhelming feeling that she needed to check on my nana beforehand. And she did. My nana had fallen in the kitchen the night before, cracked her hip and had been laying there for over 12 hours alone. She couldn't get up to call anyone, she must have been terrified and humiliated. I can still remember the feeling I had when mum had told me this. We all rushed to the hospital to visit her as soon as we could. Her entire face and head was purple with the bruising, the sight was quite scary. Like always, nana laughed it off, saying she was clumsy and careless.
A few weeks later and she was out of the hospital. But we felt uneasy. Some blood tests came back from the hospital. Stomach cancer. She had fucking cancer?? And it was terminal. Less than a month to live, most likely.
At the time I couldn't deal with the news. I was doped up on sertraline - a drug that as some of you may know, makes it extremely hard to feel anything. I couldn't cry, I couldn't get angry, I couldn't feel. We visited her at my mum's house. For the first time in my life, I saw my nana cry. She was frightened, afraid. I know that this was probably the fear of leaving us all behind, rather than death itself. But it destroyed me. I'm tearing up writing this. I guess what was supposed to be a simple post on my relatives ended up as a mourning post.
But anyways, my family arranged us all to have a party for her. I couldn't go. I had a convention that weekend and I needed to go to make the money for a deposit on a place to stay. I could have skipped it. I could have just gone back to live at mums. But I went. I went to the convention and I forgot to call nana when I said I would because I was drunk. Eurovision was on and I was all wrapped up in that.
After that, nana was unresponsive in the hospital. She would talk about her father being there, about being in places and at events that were happening at that moment, but not having any TV or anything to get it from. I believe her soul was travelling, but part of it was very much clinging to her body. She wasn't ready to go yet. We were at her bed constantly, checking for any signs of intelligent conversation (there were some when she wasn't high off painkillers), caring for her. She developed a bad chest infection and got progressively sicker. But she hung on for what seems like weeks. We begged her to leave, that we were ready, it was okay.
And so one day, she left. It was one day when my auntie had popped out of her room to get something. Nana didn't want people to see her like that, she was embarrassed, too strong for this. And so she didn't even let her own family see her die. But she died loved, with family visiting constantly. But in the end, ironically, it wasn't the cancer that killed her.
Post-mortem tests revealed that she had actually died from MRSA, thanks to bad care from the hospital. Yeah, not even fucking cancer had the pleasure of killing my nana, in the end it was that. My mum and auntie tried to get some kind of compensation from the hospital but nothing came of it.
My grandad hung on for a further three years before leaving on my birthday, 22nd April 2015. He completely lost his mind and was no longer the grandad I used to know. It was painful to see him. Of course I still loved him, but I felt like the granddad I knew had already left. I also just remembered the tragic drawings we uncovered at his house. He used to be an amazing artist, painting landscapes and buildings in great detail. The drawings we found were rough, and they got rougher and rougher until just a page of frustrated scribbles and lines. My grandad had lost his ability to draw with his illness, and they were hidden away so it appeared that he had not told anyone about it. I can't imagine how scary that must have been for him, it hurts my heart so much.
Well I think I've probably written quite enough. I know that I am still grieving very deeply for my grandparents, especially my nana. I know that I need to process it - It's been five years now. But it's hard, incredibly hard. And I can't bring her up in speech without crying. So I guess I need to say; thank you to my grandparents for being who you were. I'm glad you are no longer suffering and I hope that you hear my prayers.
Thank you for the huge influence you had on my life and I will strive to honour you.
I have three grandparents in the spirit world at the moment, two maternal and one paternal. My remaining paternal grandparent is my dad's mum. Out of these, the first to pass was my paternal grandfather. His name was Wilfred Raymond Jones and he lived in Caergwrle, North Wales. He passed over in 1997 and I believe it was related to a heart condition. I was around 11 at the time and I really didn't take it well. He was the first big loss I ever experienced and I was shaken to the very core.
I only saw him maybe once a week but he was a lot of fun and a lovely man. I remember making up games with him and my sisters, we watched and counted cars together and he loved seeing my drawings. His brother Keith, an avid birdwatcher would often come over too and also encouraged my drawing skills. We used to go on long walks together with his dog, Nero. I don't remember too much about him sadly, only that he loved animals, worked hard and loved kippers! He would stink out the kitchen making them! I loved them too as a kid but after his passing I just wasn't really able to eat them as much. I know he was in the army but I'm not sure what he did. I know that when he died his coffin had a bunch of medals and stuff on. I should probably research about it before my nana dies...
The second of my grandparents to go was my nana, Winnifred Margaret Martin. This... was the hardest of all three deaths. My nana literally raised me, she was like a mum to me. I am still very much in contact with her through dreams and mediumship but it's not the same. I was born by c-section and my mum told me that she didn't connect with me at all as a baby. And then when I was only a few months old, mum ended up in hospital and I was put into the care of my grandmother. Where was my dad? Probably off cheating on mum. Anyways, I formed a very strong bond with my nana and I loved her like one would love a mother. I didn't connect with mum as much (and this explains the BPD and also my problems with mum later in life).
I did everything with nana, and she raised me as well as she could. My fondest memories are with her and grandad in their garden or in their living room playing games. All through her life nana had illnesses - she had polio as a kid, constant back pain and hip pain and was told she'd never walk again as a teenager. But she did. And she went on to walk until the day she died. She refused to let illness get to her and tried her best for my family. And that's... where it went wrong it seems.
Her death was particularly tragic to all of us.
At the time my grandad, George Dennis Martin had started to suffer symptoms of Alzheimers and it was incredibly upsetting. He was no longer himself and had reverted to childish ways - pick-pocketing, hitting on young people, all sorts of weird behaviours. This wasn't him. Grandad was a strong, amazing, creative and artistic man who was romantic to his beloved wife and caring to his family. My nana was frustrated - I understand now it was mourning for her husband. But she was determined to stay by his side, even when he didn't recognize her, even when he was in a care home and needed even the simplest of tasks doing for him. She looked after him as if it was nothing to her, as if it didn't upset her that her husband was so ill. Nana became visibly tired, her hair becoming more pale, getting skinnier.
And then, one morning my mum was driving to work and had an overwhelming feeling that she needed to check on my nana beforehand. And she did. My nana had fallen in the kitchen the night before, cracked her hip and had been laying there for over 12 hours alone. She couldn't get up to call anyone, she must have been terrified and humiliated. I can still remember the feeling I had when mum had told me this. We all rushed to the hospital to visit her as soon as we could. Her entire face and head was purple with the bruising, the sight was quite scary. Like always, nana laughed it off, saying she was clumsy and careless.
A few weeks later and she was out of the hospital. But we felt uneasy. Some blood tests came back from the hospital. Stomach cancer. She had fucking cancer?? And it was terminal. Less than a month to live, most likely.
At the time I couldn't deal with the news. I was doped up on sertraline - a drug that as some of you may know, makes it extremely hard to feel anything. I couldn't cry, I couldn't get angry, I couldn't feel. We visited her at my mum's house. For the first time in my life, I saw my nana cry. She was frightened, afraid. I know that this was probably the fear of leaving us all behind, rather than death itself. But it destroyed me. I'm tearing up writing this. I guess what was supposed to be a simple post on my relatives ended up as a mourning post.
But anyways, my family arranged us all to have a party for her. I couldn't go. I had a convention that weekend and I needed to go to make the money for a deposit on a place to stay. I could have skipped it. I could have just gone back to live at mums. But I went. I went to the convention and I forgot to call nana when I said I would because I was drunk. Eurovision was on and I was all wrapped up in that.
After that, nana was unresponsive in the hospital. She would talk about her father being there, about being in places and at events that were happening at that moment, but not having any TV or anything to get it from. I believe her soul was travelling, but part of it was very much clinging to her body. She wasn't ready to go yet. We were at her bed constantly, checking for any signs of intelligent conversation (there were some when she wasn't high off painkillers), caring for her. She developed a bad chest infection and got progressively sicker. But she hung on for what seems like weeks. We begged her to leave, that we were ready, it was okay.
And so one day, she left. It was one day when my auntie had popped out of her room to get something. Nana didn't want people to see her like that, she was embarrassed, too strong for this. And so she didn't even let her own family see her die. But she died loved, with family visiting constantly. But in the end, ironically, it wasn't the cancer that killed her.
Post-mortem tests revealed that she had actually died from MRSA, thanks to bad care from the hospital. Yeah, not even fucking cancer had the pleasure of killing my nana, in the end it was that. My mum and auntie tried to get some kind of compensation from the hospital but nothing came of it.
My grandad hung on for a further three years before leaving on my birthday, 22nd April 2015. He completely lost his mind and was no longer the grandad I used to know. It was painful to see him. Of course I still loved him, but I felt like the granddad I knew had already left. I also just remembered the tragic drawings we uncovered at his house. He used to be an amazing artist, painting landscapes and buildings in great detail. The drawings we found were rough, and they got rougher and rougher until just a page of frustrated scribbles and lines. My grandad had lost his ability to draw with his illness, and they were hidden away so it appeared that he had not told anyone about it. I can't imagine how scary that must have been for him, it hurts my heart so much.
Well I think I've probably written quite enough. I know that I am still grieving very deeply for my grandparents, especially my nana. I know that I need to process it - It's been five years now. But it's hard, incredibly hard. And I can't bring her up in speech without crying. So I guess I need to say; thank you to my grandparents for being who you were. I'm glad you are no longer suffering and I hope that you hear my prayers.
Thank you for the huge influence you had on my life and I will strive to honour you.
