An Epitath for a Lady

Last week, my grandmother died. She was my last living grandparent. She had been ill for only a short time, but there was nothing anyone could do. I guess it was her time. Mum got to speak to her at the hospital, and apparently, she was talking about my children, her great-grandchildren number 2 and 3. This makes me feel great - as though we were on her mind too. I always hoped that she would stick it out a few more years so that I could take my little ones to Poland to meet her. She hadn't even met their father, and the last time I saw her was in 2001 when my grandfather, her husband was still alive, though I spoke to her a couple of months ago. I will always remember her voice, and the things she said that were particular to her. The way she said my name, her laughter, and her advice-giving voice. The smell of her house. A warm and inviting smell, echoing the kind of person she was.



I was sad, and angry, and I had a big cry and dreamed of her at night, like something was unfinished because I'd never had a chance to say goodbye, or even to say hello, how are you, how's the weather over there this week.


I wanted to keep talking about her, and I really wanted to talk to her just that once more. It's all so surreal, I wasn't ready, it was so final and mortal and ending.


So I thought to myself, I wanna make something.

So I went out to the shed which I don't visit on a regular basis, ferreted out a box I hadn't seen for several years, chased off the cockroaches, and inside, remarkably, found all my leatherworking tools, waxed twine, beads, buckles and snap-buttons, all intact and for the most part, not mouldy. I also found some suede. Put it all together, and a pony came out.



This pony's for my Peanut, and in memory of my Babcia, who was the kindest, funniest woman I knew. I hope I made you proud, and maybe you can keep an eye on us from your place among the stars.