Dear Grandma

Dear Grandma,

It's been almost ten years now since I've seen you in the flesh. Almost ten years exactly. I'm not that scruffy 14-year-old boy who used to run barefoot around the orchard anymore, and I no longer sport a golden mullet which could almost measure up to Steve Irwin himself. But don't worry, I still remember the lessons you taught me over the years when I was younger, whether intentionally or not. They're part of who I am now.

You taught me forgiveness.

When I brushed your hair using that broken brush, and it got so tangled in the bristles that you had to cut it out with scissors, you didn't scowl or yell, or even hold a grudge for that matter. Ok, you weren't exactly happy about the situation, but you laughed about it instead of getting angry and that was something I truly admired. You taught me that forgiveness and a good sense of humour can turn even the most frustrating and challenging situations - that otherwise could have become rather bitter memories - into cherished family stories.

You taught me the magic of books

When you would read to my siblings and I every night. But there was more to it than just reading the words from the pages. You brought the stories to life and filled our dreams with excitement and creativity. Every time I picked up a book after that, it reminded me of how I felt in those moments. I became an avid reader, we all did, and I think that set me up for life.

It may sound slightly overexaggerated, but a love for reading at such a young age can put you ahead in so many ways and I think it's probably why we all ended up doing so well in school. Whenever I had a book to read for school assignments I would devour every page (figurately speaking, of course), because I could see a little bit of that magic you gave us in every page of every book.

You taught me not to be afraid.

I was terrified of the dark when I was younger. So much so that I would avoid going anywhere by myself that wasn't brightly lit. That was until one night, we tragically ran out of hot chocolate. There was some spare powder in the cabin you were living in while you were visiting, but it was a 200 metre walk in the dark to get it. No way was I doing that, so I decided I'd just go without.

But without a second thought, you stood up from the kitchen table we were sitting around, grabbed a torch from the kitchen drawer, and walked with me to get that hot chocolate powder. It sounds so insignificant now -walking a few metres in the dark to get some hot chocolate - but I still remember it fondly. You helped me get some hot chocolate that night, but you did so much more than that as well. It taught me not to let fear stop me from achieving the things that I want to, and that lesson has stuck with me ever since.

You taught me unconditional love

By giving it - always. I don't think there is anything I could have done to convince you to give anything but your full, unconditional love because, no matter what, you always did. It radiated from you.

When I came out, you were supportive right from the start. Sure, you admitted you didn't know much about the topic, or what to say, but somehow you still managed to say exactly the right thing, because that's what you do best. And when you found out I had been prescribed anti-depressants shortly afterwards, you immediately offered to be the person I vented to, because you wanted to help me, even though you admitted you had no idea how to. Even when you lived, quite literally, on the other side of the world, you were always present. You were always there for me. Always.

They say that the words you speak and the things you do won't matter in the grand scheme of life because they can be forgotten, and it's how you make people feel that matters because THAT is what people remember. That's what will last a lifetime. I think they're right. I admit, I don't remember the plots of the stories you used to read to me, or exactly how I managed to get that hairbrush so thoroughly embedded in your hair.

The stories I've mentioned here are vague because I can only remember the brief details of the events. But I remember exactly how you made me feel in these moments. I remember that so clearly. I remember always feeling at ease in your presence no matter what. I remember always feeling supported, and loved, and safe.

So thank you, Grandma.

Thank you for being my Grandmother.

Thank you for being my mentor.

And thank you for being you.