The Potty Mouth Granny

When the picture on the right was taken back in September of 2020, I was in the throes of grief. In the trenches. Wallowing in pain. My last remaining sibling had died in February and the country shut down a month later due to the pandemic.

I was working from home, and stuck in the house with my grief. I had to go through the initial stages of grief alone, and although I had my children and friends who loved me, I felt alone. Utterly devastated and isolated. Surrounded by grief and morbid thoughts. Then I got diagnosed with epilepsy.

Now the picture on the left was taken last week and I look so much better. The grief is still there and will continue until I become an ancestor, but I’ve learned to cope. Learned to look for joy in the most minute moments. Cackling at old cartoons and reels on Facebook. Rejoicing in the love of the people in my life who are still alive. And most importantly, loving on me. If the lord is willing and the creek don’t rise as the old folks used to say, I will be 54 years old in two months and still have a lot of living to do. Now it’s my time to shine and shine hard. Time to start harvesting. Time to live and let go.