Starting out

I don't know if you can relate to this - feeling like you want to write something really worthwhile or interesting, but instead feeling like you don't have a single sentence worth contributing?

I originally decided to start a blog about five months ago and I'll be honest, I didn't get past the first post. But now I've realised that writing this blog is for me (I hope you don't mind), and that has made a big difference. It's not here to save the world, entertain millions, or even to impress the people who might read this. It's for me. Because I like writing. And because I think I'll enjoy this.

I actually realised this about half way through choosing the template for my blog. (Again what is with the wanting-to-be-cool-and-interesting-and-"Brightonian"?!). I was about to go for some arty photo for my background - one that was probably taken in a hostel in the jungle, ten hour's trek from the nearest toilet - and I realised that that photo couldn't reflect me less if it had been taken specifically not to do this. Due to my five-minute-old revelation that being myself was best, I scrolled down til I found the photo you can see as my background now. And I'll be honest, it made me cry.

Now before you think that I'm some hopelessly emotional weirdo, let me explain.

My Granddad died on Thursday, and up until this point I've just felt so numb. But not numb like I was traumatised. Numb like it nothing had happened. I just didn't feel it, and how could I say I loved him when I couldn't even squeeze out one tiny tear?

But seeing this silly path, with a little bit of grass and a fence made all of my childhood memories of him come rushing back. Walking in the fields just outside of Winchester near my grandparent's house. Feeding horses, going blackberrying and picking damsons. I even remember walking around the park and thinking how glad that I was to have grown a bit older, because we were such better friends now that I wasn't an annoying three year old that kept kicking his chair.

Yet more scenes flash by. Boxing day at their house, which felt like a second Christmas Day because we got to open another batch of presents. Then when we were older sitting around the table on Christmas day itself, and eating the most amazing Christmas dinner, courtesy of Jamie Oliver's Christmas DVD.

So many good times, so many happy memories. Taking me back to the time before nursing homes and cancer, and mental illness and stress. Back before scans and medication, and not understanding what he was saying because he couldn't speak loud enough. Back to when he came to my concerts, years after I had played my first cello in my grandparent's conservatory, and when my Dad could still play my instrument better than me. And knowing that he was proud of me, and knowing that he loved me.

Right now this simple photo feels like the most precious thing in the world, even if it isn't massively interesting and eye catching. Because in some way it just gave me my Granddad back, and made me realise that I did love him and I do miss him. I don't think I'll ever change this background, because now every time I see it I'll remember him (cheesy at that sounds) and all the good times that we've had.

Thanks for reading

Cat