It’s been 21 years since my Nain passed away. She left us in February 2004, and today—on what would have been her 106th birthday—I find myself missing her more than ever.
Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It doesn’t quietly fade into the background. Some days, it feels like it happened yesterday, especially when milestones come around or when I wish she could be here to see how life has unfolded. My Nain was more than a grandmother—she was the heart of our family, the matriarch who brought everyone together with warmth, laughter, and an unconditional love that made everyone feel seen.
I often find myself thinking about what it would be like if she were here now. I wish so deeply that she could have met Amelia, my daughter. I wish she could have held her in her arms, sung her lullabies, and told her the stories I grew up with. I wish she had known all of my nieces and nephews—though I’m comforted by the fact that my oldest niece did get to experience her love firsthand. What a precious gift that is.
And I wish she could see the person I am today. I’ve grown so much, especially since becoming a mother myself. I carry her values with me every day, and I hope she’d be proud of how I’m raising Amelia—with kindness, strength, and a whole lot of love. I also wish she could have met Ryan. I know, without a doubt, she would have loved him. I can picture them chatting away, sharing laughs, and swapping stories. I think they would have had a beautiful bond.
There’s a special kind of grief that comes from knowing someone would have adored your child, your partner—your whole life. That they would have added something beautiful to it, and vice versa. It’s a quiet ache, one that settles into your bones and stays there.
Today, I imagine her with a glass of wine in hand, smiling down at us, proud of the family she helped shape. I’m raising my metaphorical glass to her right now—thank you, Nain, for every moment, every hug, every piece of wisdom you passed on. I hope you’re enjoying the biggest party up there, surrounded by love, laughter, and endless glasses of red.
Grief and joy can coexist. I carry both with me today.
To anyone else missing someone who helped raise them, guide them, or simply loved them deeply—you’re not alone. Share your memories. Speak their name. Celebrate their life.
If this post resonated with you, please like, subscribe, and share it with someone who might need it today. Let’s keep the memories of our loved ones alive—together.
References and Inspiration:
Personal experience, February 2004 – present The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey blog archive “On Grief and Grieving” by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler
The bad and your parenting journey 