One of the earliest memories I have of my nanna is unwrapping a Christmas present from her and finding a doll. That probably seems perfectly normal, except that my nanna knew I hated dolls (but didn’t know I was already a lesbian). The look on my confused face set off her trademark cackle from the back of the room, revealing the gift to be a dastardly prank. Dolls remained a theme into adulthood, as she continuously threatened to leave her incredibly creepy porcelain doll collection to me in her will, laughing every time I replied that if she did, I would toss them all immediately into a skip bin and set it on fire. It turns out she didn’t follow through on her threat, and I am relieved I don’t have to hire and then destroy a skip.
My mum called me a couple of weeks ago, and as soon as I heard her say “Rebecca”, I knew something had happened. She has a certain phone voice that comes through when she’s about to deliver bad news. It’s tearful, but clear and powerful. A Rolodex of all the terrible things she could be calling about started flipping through my mind. For the readers under 50 who don’t know what a Rolodex is, just imagine I’m scrolling through the contacts list in my phone really fast. Mum informed me that my beloved nanna had suffered a sudden brain bleed at home, and was being taken to the hospital.
