Never alone Yesterday was the nine year mark, Nine years since you drew your last breath, And looked into my soul for the last time and squeezed my hand as you passed. Countless things have changed, And yet the intensity of my love for you remains. I watched my children, the grandchildren you never met yet I know you know so well. They skipped joyfully in the long grass where your ashes were scattered not able to truly understand the significance of this time or place. Or that was so I thought… Until my Isla, with all of her gentleness and love put her arm around me and said “is this really the day Nana died mummy?” The tears that I was desperately trying to suppress, poured out, “yes my darling” I sobbed. Her arms wrapped around me and she squeezed, just the way you embraced me when I was child. She listened to my grief and pain and stroked my hair and kissed my face. After a few minutes she placed her hand on the long grass beside me and with all the conviction of her 4-year old wisdom said “Nana’s right here you know, she’s always beside you mummy, you’re never alone”. When your own child comforts you in the exact right way that you need it, it’s difficult to find the words to express the feelings that come forth. Is it awe, admiration, confusion, bewilderment? Or some combination of all of them. Seeing your child being able to be so empathetic, loving and wise in just the way you need touches your heart and the memory of her beauty in that moment will never fade from my mind. Every time I look at Isla, I see so much of you, not just in her curly hair, perfect humorous accents or mannerisms but in the fabric of who she is, her soul. She is of course right, you are by my side in every moment and I am never really alone. But she’s right in more ways than she can even understand yet. Whenever I’m in her presence I am blessed to see your gentle, loving kindness and knowing wisdom as it lives within her. How lucky I am to have loved and be loved by you mum. How lucky I now am to love and be loved by your wise granddaughter, my Isla.