As of the 26th September a little before 6am, I am no longer an unpaid carer. Grandma died after a short stay in a care home. The day before, finally comfortable, I held her hand for two hours and softly sang her favourite gospel songs. We’re not religious, but I used to sing in choirs, and it felt like the right thing to do. She was barely conscious but her blue eyes were fixed on me the whole time. Knowing somewhere deep inside she’d still be anxious, I told her several times it was OK for her to go – that she’d held on long enough. I woke up early the next morning and immediately knew she’d died, I got the call a few minutes later.

I’m biased, but I think grandma was quietly remarkable. Like many of her generation, there aren’t many left, she lived through big and sometimes traumatic world events and simply got on with things…for better or worse.

She was more than just my grandmother, when you care for someone, your relationship inevitably deepens. I learnt her inside out, it annoyed her that she couldn’t get anything past me; not that she ever stopped trying. I’m not sure I’ve processed her death yet. Losing her has also meant losing myself and my role. I’ve crumbled into a severely depressed and burnt out heap, now that I have the ‘luxury’ of being able to.

I will miss her, I already do. I often catch myself making mental notes to tell her something she would have liked, force of habit. I will miss her being unintentionally hilarious, her passion for red wine, her stupendously good (often correct) guesses to quiz show questions, or her delight at having a good gossip with the neighbours.

In time, I will choose to remember her as simply my grandmother. I will never forget how caring has impacted me and how life-altering it is, but I know my care enabled her to have a good end of life. Her last six years weren’t easy for me but she broadly had a great time and I’m glad she did. That’s why we care, because she deserved it and would have done the same for me.

Maybe, if I ever get out of this post-caring dark hole, I’ll evolve enough to be grateful for the experience. I’ll have to try and get better or grandma will come back to haunt me and chase me with her walking stick – something she often threatened to do.

Goodbye grandma, as you said to me every night: ‘Night night, big big sleep.’