Refusing to grow up.

My grandmother's death five years ago ended my childhood. No matter that I'm a grown woman in my forties, she would always reach out and grasp my hand when we crossed the road together. The Welsh say you never know true love until you have grandchildren, and my Nan's love for her grandchildren shone without falter.

You think the old folk are going to be around forever, then one day they're not. And I didn't know how to function, instead of someone who loved me unconditionally, a gigantic chasm gaped open. Ordinary every day thoughts were torture; sooner or later I'd think, 'I must tell Nan that' and remember all over again that she'd left us. That's when the daydreaming started; I escaped into imagination - inventing characters, creating fantastic adventures for them, as they solved mysteries and pulled off outrageous stunts. Two of those stories made it into ebooks.  Unsurprisingly in both books, there are fleeting glimpses of my Grandmother. In this way I keep a little bit of her alive, for as long as my Grandmother exists, I'm a child in someone's eyes.

Florence (Flossie) Palmer.