Missing her so much right now, so I thought I'd write up a post that has been a long time coming to this board. The story of her, and the regrettable state I spent the months leading up to her death. Here is a photograph of me and her, 4 years ago. Firstly, my nanna was a large part of my upbringing. My mam worked a full time job, including summer holidays when I was a young kid, and my nanna looked after my whilst she was at work, before I went to school and in the holidays. We had a very close relationship. I felt quite bad when she admitted to me that I was her favourite grandchild of 7 of us. But she was my favourite grandparent, and in fact my favourite family member. I used to stay at her house every Tuesday night, and she taught me the alphabet, how to count, to tell the time and countless other things, including my spelling ability, which is one of the things I pride myself on the most. She got lung cancer a few years back, and was taken into hospital to have half of her lung removed. She was very ill. Just seeing her in hospital in critical condition affected me in a way I can't describe. But she got better. Well, I say better, she always had difficulty breathing and doing things too strenuous after that, but at least she was alive. Now, a year ago exactly, my depression kicked in again. This time it was over something that affected my life pretty greatly. I thought, at the time, that I wanted a sex change. It was a pretty serious feeling, I went to the doctors and got referred to a gender clinic. I told me mother, which frankly took a lot of bravery on my behalf. She was understanding at first, then went into denial, trying to find all of the reasons I couldn't be transgendered. The feeling of wanting a sex change did pass after 4 months, but it would have been nice to have had her support. My nanna was diagnosed with cancer at this time, about November 2009 I think. For some reason, my mother found it appropriate to breach my trust and tell her about my feelings. She also read an entire week of my chat logs before she kicked me out in late November, picking out and printing out all of the worst bits that described my self-hatred, suicidal feelings, self harm and desire for a sex change, and gave a copy of this to my nanna. Now, the fact that my nanna had to read these chat logs 2 months before she died abhors me. The fact that she died knowing these things about me, well, let's just say I will never forgive my mother for showing those chat logs to her. Never. The worst night I have ever spent in regards to resisting the urge to take my life, was actually in result of something my nanna said to me. I had watched a documentary on television about transgendered kids, and one female-to-male transsexual was on who I particularly related to. The fact that this boy could fit in with all of his friends and feel accepted was a massive comfort to me, but after I watched the show, I got a text message from my nanna, who had also watched the show, telling me I was a beautiful girl and begging me to reconsider my choice. I spiralled into the worst depression I have ever had to this day, and the urge to take my own life was almost overpowering. My nanna was taken into a hospice over New Year, and we were told she was terminal. I had been kicked out by this point, so conversations with my mother were awkward small talk as she had cut all communications between us at that point. I visited my nanna almost every day whilst she was in the hospice, took her enormous bunches of flowers and brought her news about how well I had done in my January exams, which even in her delusional state brought her great happiness, which made me swell with pride. She reportedly sat talking to my mam about how I was a beautiful, amazing 'brrrilliant' girl, which is a massive comfort to me to this day. But the sound of her crying and screaming with both pain and fear of her delusions was horribly distressing and a sound that I have not forgotten even to this day. Every day before I left the hospice, I would kiss her and say "I'll see you tomorrow". Then, one day, on the 24th of January, she had spent the entire time asleep or just unconscious. Before I went to leave, I didn't say "I'll see you tomorrow," because it was at that point that I doubted I would. Instead, I simply whispered "I love you" and I broke down. It was later that night I received the news that she had passed. I cried at the funeral, all of the way through the service, even before the humanist had spoken. I remember one night when I lay in bed, screaming with the pain of losing her. And I'm sitting crying now, 8 months on, because I miss her so much. Thank you so much if you have read this, my one small tribute to such an amazing and well-loved woman. She meant more to me than anyone in this entire world. I wish I was with her.