Everybody tells me writing a blog is a bit like therapy. It gives you a chance to talk about the things on your mind without paying a shrink for the privilege, so here we go. I'd like to talk about my grandad. In November, last year, he had a fatal heartattack and died. Just like that. I remember the day as if it was yesterday. My mum and dad were due to go on holiday the same morning and I remember phoning them to ask them when they were leaving when she told me. I was devastated. I couldn't stop crying, but if I'm honest, I was crying with guilt for the most part. I was crying because I used to walk past my grandad nearly every day and only say hello, I never stopped to talk to him, to ask him how he was feeling, to discover who he was, what happened in his life. He was an extremely shy man, very reserved. I remember kissing him as a child and he'd do a little embarrassed laugh and blush. Every memory I have of him is lovely. He was a gentle giant and even though he never expressed his feelings, I know he loved me very much. I miss him every day and I talk to him now more than I ever did when he was still alive. I wish I could turn back time. The day before he died, I passed him in the conservatory between our two houses ( my grandparents lived in one, my parents live in the other ). He was putting his gardening shoes on, the same pair that he'd had for years but he was a stickler for routines !, I was in a rush and we looked at each other and said hello as if we were two strangers passing in the street. I regret that day and I always will. But life goes on and after years of pain and hatred for my gran ( another blog entirely !! ), I'm finally starting to forgive her, very slowly, but I'm getting there. Because I think that's what my grandad would have wanted so for him, I'll try.