Today, for the first time since she died, I opened the cupboard to my nanna’s fabrics. I was met with the scent that always reminds me of her: it’s the smell of her house and brings back so many memories. Tears sprang from my eyes and I had to close the cupboard. I don’t know when I’ll open it again. I don’t want the smell to change or go away. I don’t want to forget it.

Nanny would say ‘tutututut’ and smile and shake her head gently, telling me, in her kind, soft voice, with her grey eyes twinkling, to use the fabrics and not worry about the sentimental part. Then she’d smile and hug me tight and remind me that she doesn’t want me to be sad when she dies.

See. Now the tears are back. I find it hard to write about losing her. I find it hard to think about it, but I think about her every day.

When I opened that cupboard today I managed to pull from it this cute yellow children’s fabric, before abruptly closing the doors. I remember nanny sewing this up when I was a child, so it’s pretty old! I’d like to make something she’d be proud of.

My nanny used to sew things to sell. She took orders and made things. I’d love to do that too but today it wouldn’t make enough money to live on, so I’ll try to at least sew items that we can use around the house or to play with or wear.

‘I love you, Nanny.’
‘I know you do, dear.’