Betty IV

I made a stupid mistake today. 

I phoned Grandad to say thanks for the money he had sent me. That's not the mistake, however. The mistake was dialling the wrong number without realising it. I was just one digit out, but that's no consolation.

A lady answered the phone. You haven't been with us for over a year now, so I wasn't expecting that. Then I felt elated: I thought it was you on the other end of the line.

But it wasn't.

I'm reading a good book at the moment by Orhan Pamuk called My Name is Red. There's a nice quote in it:: After some tragedy, we all feel the same way: In one last desperate hope, and without caring how comic and foolish we appear, we pray that everything might continue as it always has.

And it's so true. A small part of me has always hoped you'll come home, just like when I was waiting for you to suddenly start speaking while I stood by your side at the funeral parlour. 

I guess for a moment I saw a glimpse of this hope realised, then saw it fade away. 

I put the phone down and cried.

Betty III

It's been little more than a year since you left us. I thought about you and cried.

Just after you left us, we all met again for breakfast at your place, as we do every Sunday. There we all were, sitting and chatting and munching on chocolates, sausage rolls and other goodies as always. And yet something just didn't feel right. 

All the while I kept hoping, stupid as it sounds, that any moment you'd come in to offer or bring me another cup of coffee. You didn't. You couldn't. It was like being with you at the funeral parlour, where I kept willing you to say something. Of course, you didn't. You couldn't.

We're all still looking after each other, as is the Jones way, and doing our best to look after Grandad. You brought us all together and now in death you hold us all together.

I listened to a really beautiful song the other day called 'Drops of Jupiter'. I'd always thought it was a love song about a girl who had left behind her partner to find something better. Curious about the lyrics, I decided to look them up on the internet. 

It turns out that the songwriter wrote it for his mother, who passed away from cancer. He woke up one day with the words 'now that's she's back in the atmosphere' in his head and was inspired by the idea that no one ever really leaves us. 

Seeing how we're still all holding together one year on, maybe he was right. Maybe no one ever really does leave us. I hope it's true. I really do.

Betty II

It's been six months now since you left us, Nana. I miss you.

I know the spirits don't use the internet. That would be absurd. But I hope that if we do live on after we die, you'll somehow see this message.

I wanted to tell you I moved back to Edinburgh - your Edinburgh- and found a job. I love being back here and in work. I just wish it had all happened before you went away, so you'd know I was all right.

The other thing I wanted to say, Nana, is thank you again. I read your copy of The Whisperers, by John Connolly. I loved it and bought more of his books. He's one of my favourite authors now. 

In fact, I met him. He was signing his new book in Waterstone's, on Princes Street, and I bought a copy. I would never have been there if it wasn't for you.

With the copy I got a large sticker that said 'Tell them Charlie Parker sent you.' I will. And I'll do it with a smile.

But deep down, I'll know Elisabeth Mary 'Betty' Jones sent me.

Betty

Today I'd like to pay tribute to my late grandmother, Elisabeth Mary 'Betty' Jones, who passed away at 10:00 pm on 7 March 2011. 

They say it's always the little things, and in my grandmother's case it really is true. Kindness came naturally to her. She was unselfish to the end and nothing was ever too much trouble.

Her constant acts of kindness in everyday life towards her family and friends made this adorable and loving woman a truly great person.

So if you're here with me now, Nana, watching over me as I type, let me say a few things:

Thank you for getting up just to see me, for the tea and coffee you made, despite the pain you were in.

Thank you for all the cakes and biscuits you let me sample on Saturdays, even though you'd them made for Sundays and I was jumping the queue!

Thank you for the jumpers you knitted me. I wore the Mr-T one on a school trip away once!

Thank you for your generosity when times were tough.

And thank you for always being there till the very end.

I took your copy of A Town Like Alice. I know how much you loved it, so I've decided to keep it for you.

Maybe one day we'll be able to discuss it.

But may you rest in peace now, dear grandmother. Free of pain. Free in spirit. 

And know that you are loved and missed every single moment of every single day.