I'm loosing you.

I don't really understand why. I've listened to what the doctors say and nodded a lot. A few painful words stick to my brain, like flies caught in a spider's web.
Brain tumour. Nothing we can do. Six months.
These are the words that echo inside my mind constantly. I know what they mean. But that doesn't mean I've accepted it.
For eleven years, you were a second mother to me. You watched me grow from a shy and dependant toddler to a shy and dependant teenager.
People don't understand. School, the NHS, even my friends. They don't know how close we were, because nobody has ever shared a bond like we did.
And yet I took you for granted. From a very young age, I was convinced you would never leave me. And I guess you'll always be with me, deep inside my soul. Because you were 'as tough as old boots', as Granddad puts it. I'd convinced myself that you'd never ever go, that you were somehow immortal, immune to all disease.
Then I moved. Last year, September. I cried for weeks, even though you were only down the road, and I saw you every other day.
But I feel so guilty, because it's probably my fault. I left you and Granddad, and forgot how much I loved you. The tumour grew, and they don't know why.
I look at you today, and see nothing but an empty shell. It hurts me so much to see the remains of such a beautiful person, clinging on to life. It's painful and there's not a day goes by that I don't cry about it.
I want you to go. To move on. People think I'm sadistic or cruel or insane, but it just means that you can rest at last. You'll be free of all the pain and the drugs. Just free.
We're going to go out to the ocean, just like you wanted. We won't say prayers, because we'll just be reading other people's words. We're just going to remember what a wonderful person you were, as we scatter the ashes into the sea. They'll float away, but I know that it doesn't matter. Because you'll still be here.
It's hard, but I suppose I'm coping. I already miss you, and I wish I could just say goodbye properly.
When people read this, I don't know what they'll feel. Empathy, sorrow. Someone who knows me will read it and probably be surprised that I've been keeping all of this hidden. But I'm not really writing it for them, I'm not even writing it for me. It's for you, Gran. Because I don't want to forget how much I love you. How much I miss you. How much I know you're still here.