I don't know what to name this post so I'm calling it Love Will Tear Us Apart because I love Joy Division

Try saying that with a mouthful of dick.

Yeah, I'm in one of those moods.

There are some things I don't post about because I'm worried it'll make my mum worry. Today I need to get this out so, on the odd chance you read this muvva, I'm sorry.

When my Farver (my dad's dad) died, I was sad, obviously. But, aside from the expected sadness, I didn't really feel much. Past the age of what, 10, he hadn't really been part of my life. I see my Dad's family so rarely that my uncle and aunty didn't know I was at the funeral when I was stood next to them. It's nothing personal, it's just the way things are.

When my mum's dad died, it hurt, it hurt a lot, but I knew it was going to happen. I hate hospitals, so when I decided against going to see him and instead spent the evening with my lovely Grace Face I remember telling her that he'd given up. I knew he had, I knew he was never coming home. Losing him hurt, but it wasn't the kind of hurt I"m feeling now.

There's no denying my nan had been ill for a long while but, when she last went into hospital, I expected her to come out again. Despite my selfish desire for her to get better, she was ready to go. She wanted to go.

My nan's funeral was today and, obviously, I couldn't go. My nan was so so beautiful, I got my balls out honesty from her and she never took any shit from anyone. When my brother wasn't doing his college work I asked my nan to tell him to get his act together, because I knew he would listen to her. It didn't matter where I was or what I'd done if my nan said jump, I jumped.

So the fact that she's gone is hitting me more than I thought it would. In theory, I know that she's gone but, in practice, it hasn't quite registered yet. Her beautiful face is still in my mind, sat on her chair in her flat the same way I saw her the last time we face-timed. The last time we spoke when she told me she wasn't feeling well and I couldn' do anything because I'm so far away. I'm sure it'll register more when I get back to England but, right now, it really doesn't seem real.

Denial, the first of the five stages of grief, am I right?

xXx