Winnie at Brussels

This is the picture I have in a frame by my bed. It's my nanny, and she's been gone 18 years today.

I remember the night she died like it was yesterday. I was only 12. I remember as we listened at the kitchen door late at night, while the adults sat at the table crying, that my uncle said there must be 20 other families around the country experiencing this tonight.

I remember my sister and I, watching TV in the dark in the playroom. We watched an early episode of ER, where there were lots of pregnant women going into labour and swamping the ER staff. I remember us trying to smile through our tears.

I remember my mum saying to me that it wasn't the end of the world. And I replied " yes, it is".

That was 1996, and now it's 2014. It's strange to think of all the things that Nanny missed out on in our growing up, things that Gramps did get to see. I wonder what she'd make of my now 30 year-old self. I am her double, physically. In fact, this morning, I opened the door to the delivery driver of my online shop, and he gasped, and said how beautiful my hair was. Hard to imagine when it's unbrushed and dishevelled and I'm still in my Pj's! Maybe it was a little sign from Nanny to keep going. I like to think it is. She was a very shy person in her youth, yet Gramps also used to tell me how fiercely brave she was. I think I'm brave too. I've done loads of things last year I thought I couldn't do. Someone even said that about me at the weekend. Maybe I need to remember this when I feel that things are too hard. Maybe this will help me find my inner strength.

To the bravest lady I know,
with love