I have to grow up this year.
I have to be strong and independent.
My Nanna is gone,
I lost her this year.
I said “Goodbye” as my male cousins and uncles
carried her down the aisle
of Kyogle Presbyterian Church
and away into eternity with Jesus.

I know she is well cared for there,
and loved beyond measure.

But if she were here today,
I’d hold her hand,
even though I’m all grown up.
I’d hold her hand
like she held mine
on my wedding day when she
wanted to remind me that she cared.

I’d try not to waste time
apologising for all those times
when I wasn’t around.
I’d remind her of all the wonderful
things she baked in her kitchen,
the stilted songs I played
on her Hammond organ,
the nude watercolour my Grandad painted
that hangs behind the door,
her little Jack Russell Terrier,
the only dog on the farm allowed indoors,…

And I’d tell her stories of our Gracey,
her miraculous great-granddaughter
who makes our days joyful
and our sun shine.
I imagine meeting my Nanna
as a little bundle of joy.
I’m sure my mum was proud
to show me off.
I’m sure Nanna was too.

I can only imagine her joy
as she tucked that pink teddy bear
into my crib,
stroked my bubble-gum cheek,
so fragile and perfect.
I’m sure she gave me her finger
with lovely long nail
and I gripped it tightly,
as only a baby can
until my knuckles were white.

If Nan was here today,
I’d hold her hand.