Author’s note: I originally wrote this article following the week of my grandmother’s death, in July 2017. I now would like to share it.
The timeline between my grandmother’s diagnosis of cancer and her death was short.
On the 31st of May 2017, she arrived at our doorstep wearing a red jacket, to tell us she had small cancerous tumours in her stomach.
On the 28th July 2017, at 4am, she died.
In less than two months, what doctors thought was, at the worst, a stomach ulcer, turned out to be a stomach and lungs riddled with cancer.
She would have turned 75 three days later.
My grandmother’s name is Beverley and she will forever be the woman who taught me to love in an adult kind of way. That may not make sense, so let me take you back a few years.
About a month before she died, like the queen she was.
Beverley isn't my *biological* grandmother.
(Side note: Ooooph, I hate that word. Biological. As if it qualifies our relationship to be more meaningful. I digress.)
Beverley is the mother of my step-father, who has been in my life since I was about two.
The truth about blended families is that we don't always work like the Brady Bunch. Despite everybody's best intentions, despite an enormous amount of love - sometimes, too much - families are infinitely complex ecosystems.