I'm not a suspicious person so my reasons for hating Friday 13th aren't because I'm worried about something happening to me if I walk under a ladder or my black cat walks across my path today.
I hate Friday 13th because my Gran died on Friday 13th.
Today is even more significant because my Gran died on Friday 13th April 2001. Exactly 11 years ago.
On that very day in 2001 it was Good Friday but for us there was nothing good about it at all. We were already in Edinburgh, where my Gran stayed and if I remember rightly we'd been there since Thursday 12th when my Mum drove us up to see her in hospital.
We had stayed in the hospital family room that night which was probably because the Doctors knew my Gran could pass at anytime. I don't think my Mum slept much that night.
My Gran died in the early evening on Friday 13th and the worse bit about it is we'd gone back to her house. I don't know why we left but I'm sure it was because the Doctor thought we should get out and have a rest at home. We were having dinner when my Mum got the call to say it was time and I remember her saying, "We need to go NOW!"
We didn't get there on time. Apparently we were late by minutes.
My Gran was on a morphine drip and they'd increased it to the point where she wouldn't have known who was there or where she was but I still think about how she was alone when she passed away.
When my Grandad died, I was about 3 years old, and my Gran, I think, died a little bit on the inside. They had been together for so long that I don't think she ever really got over the fact that he had passed away.
Gran always said 13 was her lucky number so whilst it brings back sad memories of the day my Gran left us, Friday 13th was the day my Gran was free to be with my Grandad again, somewhere out there.
I'll say a little prayer tonight. I don't know if she'll hear me but I like to think she's in the stars watching over us.