Prologue
Isn’t it funny how you spend your whole childhood wishing you were a grown up? Wishing you could be your own boss, stay up all night, eat ice cream all day, not go to school, drive a car, have your own place, and be your own person? Only to grow up and realise you’d do anything to be a kid again.
Growing up, I spent more summers than I can remember at my grandparents’ house. I loved the times I spent with them. The memories I made. I’d give anything to be that wide-eyed little girl again. Sitting on my nan’s living room floor, helping her with her lines for her next play. Watching in awe as she embodied a different character each time and brought them to life. Those were some of the best days of my life.
Instead, I’m sitting on a decaying, wooden bench in a cemetery. It’s a humid day in June, and my gaze stays on the polished rock in front of me. I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to hug them a little tighter, appreciate them a little more. Back then I thought everyone would live forever. It never occurred to me that our evenings sat around the TV with a cuppa and a packet of plain crisps would be limited.
Losing my nan a few years ago had hit me hard. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. She was healthier than me. She ran half marathons, went to the gym three times a week, and was a master of spin class. Yet one day she woke up and her heart gave out. Life is cruel. Gramps took her loss hard, unsurprisingly. They were childhood sweethearts. Married at eighteen and rarely spent a day apart since. Losing her was one of the worst days of my life. Yet the waves of despair didn’t pull me completely under, although not for lack of trying. I still had Gramps to keep me afloat amidst the rough waves. To hold me when I cried, to call when I needed to talk. It was after Nan passed that we started to notice his forgetfulness. The repeating of things, the short-tempered outbursts. It was like he was a different person sometimes.
When my mum sat me down in her living room and told me he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I refused to believe it. This man was larger than life, the life of the party. There wasn’t a single person on Earth with a bad word to say about him. Loved by all, admired and respected. He was one of the best. And he meant the world to me. There was no way the world would be cruel enough to pick him.
Staring at the rock in front of me, with the elegant scrawl across the front, I wipe a tear from my eye and take a deep breath. It’s been six months, but it still hurts. Standing, I grab my bag and the bouquet and walk towards the stone.
“I miss you guys. I miss you so bloody much. I wish we were back in the bungalow, dancing in the conservatory to the music blaring out of the jukebox. I wish I’d hugged you a little tighter. Called you more often. I wish we’d had more time.”
Crouching down, I place the bright bouquet of sunflowers on the grave and take a breath. I put one hand on the rock and trace their names with my finger.
“I’ll come back soon,” I promise, standing up and making my way back to my car.
Chapter One
For early June, it’s hotter than you would expect in England. I put the windows of my red Fiat 500 down and sing along to the country song blaring out of the speakers. Trying to forget everything. All the hurt, the pain, the loss.
Today would have been my grandfather’s eightieth birthday. My chest constricts at the thought, the thought that this year I don’t get to celebrate with him. Every year since I can remember, I’ve visited him on his birthday, or as close to it as I could if it were a weekday and I had to go to school. He was the king of the bear hug. No one gave better hugs than Gramps. What I wouldn’t give to have one of them now.
When the Alzheimer’s got worse, it broke my heart. Gramps and I were thicker than thieves. He was my best friend. I was his little sunflower. I remember the first time I visited him in the hospital, after he’d had a fall. I was sat at the side of his bed with Mum and he saw my locket. It was a sunflower; he’d bought it me for my eighteenth birthday. He’d smiled and said, “That’s pretty, why a sunflower?”
It took everything I had inside of me not to break down and sob right there and then. But I’d put a brave face on and said, “It’s a symbol of love and loyalty.” The fact that he’d forgotten our mutual love of the bright flower hurt more than I can say. All those memories that meant so much to me, gone. Erased by this cruel disease, even if only temporarily.
Following my sat nav, I turn down the next road and follow the numerous signposts for my destination. I wanted to do something special today for Gramps. So I’d decided to make the two-hour drive to visit a sunflower field. We talked about going to one for so long, so I decided to make the trip today in his memory.
Pulling into the car park, I’m in awe of the sight in front of me. Hundreds of sunflowers standing proudly in a field. Eagerly looking towards the sun, basking in its glory. My chest feels tight and I have to remember to take a breath. The golden yellows and browns are truly breath-taking. Pulling into a space, I turn the engine off and smile, looking out my window and up to the sky.
“Happy Birthday, Gramps.”
Chapter Two
Golden yellows, bright green stalks, warm oranges. I feel oddly at home walking between the rows of flowers. The colours, the smells, the freedom. Playing with the silver sunflower locket that’s hanging from my neck, I admire the beauty around me.
Sunflowers have always fascinated me. Gramps talked about them a lot. About how they inspire love and joy and happiness. How they are a symbol of hope and growth. Luck and faith. Being here brings me a strange sense of peace. Like I can feel him around me, comforting me.
It’s a beautiful summer day, and in England you have to make the most of them; they’re few and far between. Following the small tour in front of me, I listen to the guide talking about the fields and how they came to be. I watch as people take photos, ask questions, and laugh. It’s funny; in this field full of flowers that represent happiness and hope, I feel oddly alone and disconnected from the others. I wish Gramps were here.
For the past six months I’ve been trying to pull myself together. I had a bit of a breakdown after we lost Gramps. I withdrew from the world and struggled to even get up in the morning. Moving back in with my parents was tough but necessary. I needed the support; I needed my family. I left my job and started therapy, focusing on getting healthy and happy again. Taking one day at a time and trying to heal.
It’s been a rough journey, but I feel like I’m slowly getting there. I don’t feel as hopeless now, I don’t get panic attacks daily. Concentrating on each day as it comes, I remind myself of all the good still in the world. All the beauty and the opportunities and the love. One day at a time. That’s what I’m focusing on.
We are circling round and almost back at the car park. The tour guide motions for the group to follow him into the gift shop to see what they have to offer. Whether it’s grow your own sunflower kits, sunflower seeds to eat, sunflower oil, or other memorabilia. I pass and walk toward the small café overlooking the field, desperately in need of more coffee.
Chapter Three
Age Five