On distance, devotion and a cup of tea

There was a time when I visited my grandma almost daily, together with my little dog Kaiya. For a cup of tea, a game of Triominos or Rummikub, or just to help tidy up. It wasn’t complicated; it was just part of life. It was calm amidst the noise.

We sat together at the table, talking, or not. There was a sense of ease in the air that didn’t need words. A quiet familiarity that I now feel even more deeply, now that it’s no longer part of my life; not because my grandma is gone, but because the rhythm of being together has slipped away. And I honestly don’t know how to carry that.

She still lives nearby. But I never visit. Not because I don’t want to. But because I can’t.

There’s something in me that can’t tolerate the outside world very well: scents, stimuli, noise and closeness. My system shuts down in situations that others might simply call “pleasant.” So I keep my distance. Physically, at least. Because on the inside, I feel closer to her than ever.

I try to make up for it. With flowers. With messages. With little treats I send along with my mother. With carefully chosen birthday gifts. With WhatsApp words that always seem to fall just short.
But the truth is: Nothing comes close to what we had.

I often feel guilty. Like I’m not enough. Like I need to compensate for something I can’t truly restore. As if I owe her my presence in return for her love, but I no longer have that presence to give.

And yet. What if love also exists in this form? In staying connected. In attention. In loyalty. In small gestures that are big because they cost energy. Because they come from a place that so deeply wants to, but can no longer do it the way it used to.

I want to tell her I haven’t forgotten. That I still sit beside her in my mind. That I still picture that cup of tea. That she will forever be part of my inner place of peace, no matter how far away she feels.

Maybe she’ll read this. Maybe not. But I needed to say it somewhere.
For her. For me. For what still remains, in all the layers of what no longer can.



🌸 A letter to grandma

About the past, the now, and everything I can’t quite say out loud

Poe,

I don’t really know where to begin. Maybe just here: I miss us.

Not a day goes by without thinking of you. Sometimes in a flash: a butterfly in the garden, a memory, or when mum tells me she played Rummikub with you. And sometimes like a stone in my belly. Heavy, silent, and hard to put into words.

Do you remember how often I used to visit? Almost every day. For a game, a cup of tea, or just to tidy something up. It wasn’t a chore; it felt like coming home. A piece of calm in a world that, to me, is often far too loud and far too fast.

Back when I could still be with you more often, everything felt easier to handle. Safer, too.

But the world has changed. And I’ve changed, or maybe it’s better to say: I’ve become who I really am. With everything that comes with that: my sensitivity, my limits, my struggle with crowds, scents, and being social. And that’s why I hardly see you now, even though you live so nearby. Not because I don’t want to. But because my body and mind simply can’t cope.

It doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like a loss. Like powerlessness.

So I try to make up for it in other ways. With messages. With flowers. With little treats I send via mum. With birthday gifts I carefully select.

But honestly? It never feels like enough. Not because you say that,
but because I feel it. Because I know what we once had and what I can’t give you anymore.

Sometimes I drive myself crazy inside, wondering whether I’m doing it right. Whether I should find a way to be there more. To be closer. Physically present.

But then I forget something important: That love isn’t always measured in visits, or physical nearness. Love can also be staying loyal from a distance. Continuing to think of someone. Keeping your heart open. Sending flowers. Sending a message. Choosing, again and again, to care.

And that’s what I do, Poe. Every single day. I hope you feel that.
I hope you can still sense me sitting next to you with a cup of tea.
That you know how deeply I care, even if it’s invisible sometimes.

Forever your Klein