Death isn’t really talked about, although it should be. It’s everywhere, a second presence we don’t feel until it’s too late. It comes and goes as it pleases, like a thief in the night. It’s selfish, takes what it wants without caring. It mocks us like the childhood bully who won’t give us our toys back and laughs at our futile attempts to fight it. I used to think love would save us. But what if it was love that broke us in the first place?

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m cursed, that would explain all the bad luck that clings to me like a blanket. Maybe the curse started with my parents death. Or when Gran started to forget. Gran forgot the little things at first. Of course I didn’t think much of it, it was just old age. But then she forgot the bigger things like my name and Grandpa’s death. Then I knew something was very wrong.My best mate, Gibbsie, says that looking after Gran is way too much responsibility. He doesn’t understand that she’s all I have left, that I have no support system. What does he expect me to do? Send her into a home and pretend like that’s normal?

“Gran?” I call out.

She’s sitting where she always is nowadays, on her rundown couch staring at the tv. Which was static. Again. I notice the fact that her shoes that I laid out this morning were on the wrong feet. Seeing this small detail broke my heart, this wasn’t my Gran. Not really.

“Joshua, you’re home late”

“Yeah, had practice,” I replied.

“Oh, that’s wonderful Joshua, you still play soccer?”

I let out a strained, forced laugh “Rugby, Gran.”

“Oh yes that's right, your grandfather used to love rugby.”

I don’t correct her, he hated rugby. He thought it was barbaric and a horrendous excuse for a sport. How was this my new normal?

One memory can change everything, it can alter the very fabric of your life. One moment can feel like a thousand moments all compiled into one. I remember waking up on the morning of the accident, the day was beautiful and the sun bathed everything in its warm and luminous glow. Everything seemed brighter that day.

“Bye Grandpa.”

“Goodbye Son, don’t get in too much trouble today aye?” As he said this his eyes lit up, and he gave me a bright smile, showing his smile lines. Those were the last words I heard him say, if I could go back in time I would’ve turned back, would’ve glanced longer at him, capturing that moment in my brain forever instead of just walking out the door.

I remember that afternoon, rugby practice had run late so I got home when it was dark. I walked into the house and a horrible sense of wrong enveloped me, the house seemed colder, I felt a horrible sense of dread building in my chest. The moment I knew I was right was when I saw Gran, she looked like she had collapsed into herself. Her breaths were heavy and uneven, and she was on the floor. Time seemed to freeze, as I dropped my backpack and ran to where she was.

“Gran what’s wrong, where’s grandpa?” I asked, panic building as I looked around for him.

“He’s….” she broke off, crying and shook her head.

“What do you mean? Where is he?” I think at that moment I knew. I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth.

“He just went to get groceries… he just went..” she broke off crying even harder.

“What are you trying to tell me?” My voice began to shake, and it felt like the world was caving in around me.

“There was an accident.” That was the moment we both stopped talking and collapsed into each other, desperately trying to cling on to memories of grandpa.

Practice ran late again, I couldn’t ditch it completely and I also couldn’t leave Gran on her own for long periods of time. As I went into the changerooms, I could feel that familiar sense of panic building again. What if while I was gone Gran had fallen? What if…? These scenarios ran through my mind, until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Gibbsie was standing next to me talking about something unimportant, but it felt like I couldn’t hear him, it felt like I was underwater.

“Are you okay?” 

Instead of responding I just nod.

“Are you sure?” he asks again.

“Yep.” 

I can’t breathe, this might be what a heart attack feels like. I try to draw in breath but I can’t. I know that I have to keep it together here, I can’t fall apart. I grab my stuff and walk out of the changerooms and fall apart.

I still remember the last perfect summer I had with Gran. We had been gardening the entire day, the summer sun beating down on us, I was only pretending to help because I was too busy scrolling on my new phone.

“Joshua! At least pretend to look busy.” She laughed at this with a huge smile on her face.

A real one. Not the confused, polite one I had become so familiar with. I looked up from my phone and smiled when she handed me a photo of a man and a woman beaming at the camera. The man had his arm around the woman and held the rugby ball with his other arm. I never really knew who my father was, I had heard stories of course. But that's all I had, that photo. 

“I know you don’t know much about your dad, but you’re like him, you know. I see it in you every day. His spirit, his grace, he would be so proud to see the young man you’ve become today, and I am too.” Grandma said this with tears in her eyes, which made me a little emotional too. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone, least of all Gibbsie.

All summer I had been doubting that I was made for any of it, it was too much pressure. I had been made captain of the rugby team. As always Gran read my mind and saw the doubts and fears there but provided comfort. 

“Sunflowers Joshua,” she said, nodding to a patch that we had planted. “They’re like little suns. They turn towards the sun no matter how cloudy it gets. You’ll find your sunflowers one day. Remember that.”

For a moment I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, hearing the sounds of the bees buzzing all around me. Smelling the comforting smell of flowers and soil and knowing with absolute certainty that my life would always be ok as long as I had Gran.

That summer we planted more than a dozen sunflowers.

I’m still waiting for them to bloom.

The house was quiet again, in that way I hate. I had been lying awake thinking about it. Thinking about sending Gran to a home. I couldn't send Gran to a home. Could I? I pictured her sitting on her chair with her shoes on the wrong feet, could they ever take care of her? Look after her like I did?

But then I thought about last week... She left the stove on, called me by my father's name and cried when I had corrected her. I knew in my heart that Gibsie was right. I wasn’t qualified to take care of Gran; I couldn’t help her the way they could. But I could keep her here with all the memories. I pulled out my phone and googled care options, I felt like I was betraying her. But maybe I wasn’t betraying her. I was growing. Maybe that’s what maturity is, realising when you can’t do it alone anymore, having the ability to keep fighting even when you feel like you can’t anymore.

I said that love may be the thing that broke us, but I was wrong, it’s not. Love is the thing that shines at us through the darkest days, encouraging us to hold on and fight. Love is the thing that replenishes us, like sunflowers turning to the sun, even after the storms have left them beaten and weathered. It’s the quiet light in our lives, that we don’t notice we have until we need it. It heals all the wounds that we thought were too deep to fix.

It’s unrelenting and unconditional in the face of darkness.

It doesn’t give us false promises.

It just promises to stay.

And sometimes... sometimes that’s enough to help us grow again.

Like sunflowers. After the storms.