Dream smp age regression one-shots

A Story.

I want to tell you part of my story. It comes with its warnings, and I'd rather if your little not to read this.

This chapter is heavy. It includes mentions of losing someone to cancer, crying, grief, denial in a way, blackouts.

If you think you can't read this. Then don't.
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My name is Ollie, or Ghost. And I had a Nan, who was honestly someone who I will always love. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry while writing this.

My nan, my dad's mum, wasn't rude, she was nice, and would sit in the chair I sit in often to read in to watch TV with my dog. Yes the one you've all seen before. She would sit, white hair, glasses on with her cardigan and watch the TV while my dog slept on her lap. Her glasses case not to far away. She always struggled to walk but refused help until she really needed it, she had a wooden stick she'd use to get around sometimes, often between rooms. I think that's when I knew it was bad.

Her bedroom was next door to mine, it was the nicest room in the house.

And I really don't know how I'll get through writing this because I keep crying. I feel stupid crying, and I feel bad for it, because I shouldn't be crying.

But, her room, the room I spent covid doing my Skype calls in, had pink walls, and wasn't the biggest, she had a radiator under her window, and on the windowsill she had a wooden duck, that we still own, a metal car, and a flower pot. I'm not sure where the car is and the flower is long dead. She had curtains that rarely closed, only really when she changed, she slept with her curtains open. A thing I doubt I'll ever be able to do

Her bed by her window, it was a roller bed thing with a mattress. She had a duvet, often a tiger one, and her black snow tiger blanket, her favourite animal. And that blanket, I have, and I use it to sleep every night. Her bedside table had a tray on it, her lamp, which you had to tap to get to work, her clock and her glasses case. Her dresses had a photo of sorts and bears on there. Above her bed, my god it was amazing.

And it's made me go back into tears, enjoy me going through grief while writing this.

It was lined with random things, photos, my dad's legos, all sorts. But what I loved on that shelf? Her small bears, the one with the small cap and amazing dress that sits on my bookshelf, her small pink dragon and her small trolls. 3 of them. Those also sit on my bookshelf.

On top of her wardrobe she kept 2 things. A lego star wars ship that belongs to my dad, and something that is important to me on levels I can't describe. A large Jaguar teddie, that Aspen will be familiar with. Her name is Suma. And I swear she is the only thing keeping me going sometimes, she is my comfort. My safety. Because when I cuddle her, with her tiger blanket its like she's back. And it breaks my heart every time. On her floor, carpet, and the rug that is currently in my room. Her Jaguar carpet.

I'm going through photos of her for this and each one unleashes a new wave of emotions and me trying my very best not to cry.

My nan had a husband who I never met. He's been dead 22 years and his name for me is Grandad Frank and I'd give anything to meet him. I'd hear different stories about him, and I still do, from my dad, I was always to scared to ask about him from nanny. I never wanted to upset her, I wish I'd asked her more. Talked to her more. Spent more time with her.

Nanny had 3 rings on her finger. 1 her mums, I'm not sure whose the 2nd one was, and the 3rd I think was hers. Or Grandad Frank's. That photo has sent of floods of tears I didn't need because I remember constantly asking her about those rings, I wish I'd asked her more.

She always read books. And she'd take only a few days, I've got a couple of them. It hurts to look at them. I can't read them yet.

My nanny, she wasn't well. She had cancer, and it was in her bones. And January of 2021 she went to the hospital after spending 8 hours stuck on the stairs with my sibling and dad.

I wish I'd spent more with her that day, I hate that didn't and its something I'll take to my grave, because while everyone else got to say goodbye as she went to the hospital I didn't, the last thing I did was give her a hug and tell her I loved her as I went to walk the dog.

My nan had a surgery on her leg and I expected her to come home. But she didn't, and I remember being told she wouldn't make it home and I remember my sibling on her knees crying. And nothing felt real. Nothing felt right. Nothing was right.

I've never cried like I did that day, and I don't remember much from the days following. I didn't feel alive anymore.

I won't forget the day my mum walked into mine and my siblings room and said that around 3 or 3:30pm my nan had passed.

I didn't cry.

I hate myself for that, my mum was crying, my sibling was crying I didn't. It was just a oh. I didn't cry much at her funeral.

But I was angry, and I still am. I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't say goodbye to the person who oh so often let me borrow Suma for the night. Or watch criminal minds with me when I was 8 and always tell me what happened the next day, the person who watched 4 in a bed with me.

Everyone else got to say goodbye, but I didn't. And I will never forgive myself for that.

I told her I'd see her when she got home but even she knew. And I hate myself for telling her that. But I'm still waiting for her to come home. I told her I loved her but wonder if she really knew how much she means to me. I hope she knows. I hope she does.

It was a year since we lost her this year and it still doesn't feel real. I want her home. Why isn't she home? Why hasn't she come through the front door with her library books? Why? Why isn't she reading the latest Detective Frost novel? And why can't I look at my dad the same anymore?

There's so many whys I could fill a book with them.

Are you bored yet? Are you wondering why I published this? I can't tell you. Because I don't know. Maybe this is how I'll handle my grief. Tell you, strangers on the Internet. Turn to you for the answers.

Because, I hate myself for not being cis, straight and neurotypical. Because I wonder how she'd feel. I don't know how she'd feel and it eats me alive.

When I heard Technoblade had cancer, when I watched that video my heartstopped, and I was terrified. Because what he said made it clear he wouldn't be okay. When I lost my Nanny I turned to Technoblades videos for comfort.

And when he passed I felt my world of comfort crumble around me. There would be no more monthly Technoblade posts, no more of that.

I think something that helped me through my grief of losing Nanny is this book. Writing. And age regressing but that's not the point.

I of course have new comforts, Nirvana, reading, the band Queen but it all started with finding comfort in Technoblade, and for that. All I can do is thank him.

Thank you, Alex. Technoblade. Thank you. You saved my life.

This book is my new comfort. And I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with this mess of a book. I love you all.

Time of publishing - 2:00am
Date of publishing - Wednesday 21st September 2022
Word count - 1415