Witchcraft runs through my veins. My Granma, the witch

I’ve been communicating with my ancestors in my craft for about 3 years. The ancestor who I connect with most strongly, who always has something to say and advice to give is my Granma.

She was undeniably a witch

I don’t know if she would have used the term but she did identify as pagan. She read tarot cards, cursed like a sailor and absolutely practises herb magic and healing in her kitchen. Everything she did was magic to me. For starters she had a temper and was immovably stubborn. If Granma says she’s sitting here well you best vacuum around her because that’s where she stays. 

She passed peacefully in her sleep January the 31st of 2015 and has been guiding me in spirit ever since. She loved to dance and crochet. Shortly after her passing I found myself with a ballroom dance partner waltzing across a dance floor. And after many unsuccessful attempts throughout her living years she was finally able to teach me how to crochet (and quite well I must add) from the other side. After her passing crochet was easy. Dancing sang through my muscles. My creative talent poured through me the way it had for her. Yes I had lost her physically but I had found her in my bones. 


She was first and foremost what we would recognise now as a stitch witch

Incredibly talented: beadwork tapestry’s, exquisite needlework, handmade dolls and anything in between. Creativity poured from her fingertips seemingly without effort. I would watch her work, mesmerised. Her skills passed down through all of her children my uncles and my mum and through me. I’m happy to say we are all skilled artists in our own ways.

She was also a kitchen witch

She had home remedies and cures for everything from bruises to scolds (often it was put honey on it) her secret hot chocolate recipe that would ease nightmares brings a warmth to my belly even now when I think about it. 

Finally she was a book witch

All my life I thought she had this really cool book stand by her bedside that looked just like a stack of books because it never moved or decreased in size. Until one day it toppled and I realised it was a 3ft high stack of books. She never stopped learning and being fascinated with all life had to offer. The fire in her belly, love in her heart and veracious mind were infectious. 

grieving her was incredibly difficult we were very close. Once the rawness of the pain had subsided I found myself able to connect with her through my own creativity (did I mention I have an art degree, it might be a slight passion of mine) when I would stitch, draw or paint I would feel her close as if she was sitting beside me. I put her crochet blanket on my sofa and created an altar for her and every now and then I smell the incense, hand rolled cigarette and permed hair smell that was her and I know she’s still here. 

 

Pictured on my altar is a picture of her and the wonderful Claire Marie Voyant doll she made. Which I think looks a bit like her

To this day Granma Brenda Kadow is loved, cherished and remembered... because she’s too stubborn to ever leave our hearts 

Leave a comment

All comments are moderated before being published