Shortly after my grandmother passed away, we gathered at my mum’s house. It wasn’t because we were really doing anything - just sitting around watching television, eating what would have been christmas lunch and trying to support my grandfather. The usually large house felt small - crammed with people I never really saw. Visitors coming in and out, paying their respects. At times, it often became too much to deal with the crying, and endless questions. “Why?” was the most popular. And no one had an answer.

It was one of these busy days where I decided that I had to get away from the crying and the zombie-like state. I went to go into the living room to watch TV but I found my Mum, Dad, brothers and my grandad sitting around talking in a hushed manner. They stopped when I walked in. I sat down with them and asked what was going on.

It turned out that my grandmother in fact had committed suicide, and she had left a note that my grandfather had found. It was written in Greek and he wasn’t strong enough to attempt to read it. Mum, on the other hand, was going to keep it from me. She didn’t want me to know. My grandfather said he didn’t want me to know because my grandmother had always felt protective over me and hated to see me upset -more than anyone else.

I suddenly flew into a rage and insisted that I leave immediately. I felt somehow betrayed. I was angry at my Mum for trying to make me think it wasn’t a suicide. I was angry that she was going to keep it from me even though I believed it was a suicide the moment mum called me that day. I was angry that this was even happening. I was angry that I had known it was a suicide and everyone told me it wasn’t - then were going to keep the secret that it was.

I couldn’t hide my anger and mum attempted to calm me down but I was inconsolable at that point. Why was this even happening? Why were we all sitting in the living room trying to pretend our hearts weren’t ripped out instead of ripping wrapping paper off presents that we didn’t need? And why were people lying to me when I was the only one who really understood what was going on?

Eventually, I calmed down. And my grandfather was upset because he believed he made me upset. He felt more upset that he believed he had done something that upset his now deceased wife. Obviously, it was an incredibly upsetting situation for all. But eventually, he read the note. And it was hard to listen to, but I needed to hear it. And it became all too much to understand and process.

Months have gone by and I feel mostly healed. Except for any given moment of peace is interrupted by my mind replaying the sound of my grandfather wailing in the background when my mum had called me to tell me the news. And I loathe the phone. Every time it rings, my heart sinks to my stomach.

But since this time, I’ve had a pretty bad run with luck. I’m expecting some kind of major Karma payback at least some time soon. But the months have been difficult and hard to live through at times. And sometimes when I’m by myself, I might cry. Or I’m so silent that I can hear my cats breathing.

In those moments, something happens that I can’t really explain. My grandmother. But I’m not thinking of her or how much I miss her. It’s like I can feel her presence. It’s an imposing feeling. Not like when you suddenly remember something. It’s like she is there, saying hello and I am to say hello back. It’s the most odd feeling I’ve ever encountered and have not experienced it before. It has happened a few times in the past few weeks - and I’m a bit too far away from the initial grieving stage to think I’m just suffering from it.