I thought about my grandma today.
Even though she’s been dead for.
It must be 25 years now.
From the age of about 8.
To the age of about 16.
My grandma looked after me quite a bit.
She made me feel safe.
Through the years that my dad disappeared completely.
So that’s from the age of 11.
Through the years that my mum.
As a single parent.
And through the years that me, my mum, my sister and my baby brother ran from the drunken stepdad that arrived to disrupt us.
Then to abuse us.
As I entered my mid-teens.
My grandma created such a safe place.
Just by being herself.
Funny thing is.
Even though I spent years and years and years in her embrace.
I don’t think I can remember anything she ever said to me.
Not one word.
I remember her smile.
Her little kitchen.
And her hands.
On my hands.
But I can’t remember her words.
It looks like Maya Angelou was right after all.
People will forget what you said.
People will forget what you did.
But people will never forget how you made them feel.