I’m back.
It’s been a while since I last wrote an article, and so much has happened since. For those of you who follow me on Instagram, you’ll know I recently took a little break and traveled to the Far East (more on that soon). Whilst I was away, I posted a few stories with updates about the major astrological events happening at the time: the Taurus full moon on November 15th and Pluto’s final moments in Capricorn at the critical degree before its shift into Aquarius on November 19th.
That Taurus full moon, however, was a tough one for me—devastating, actually. It wasn’t just the collective heaviness I anticipated; I had a sinking feeling that a worst-case scenario in my personal life was about to unfold.
My grandmother was taken to the hospital the day before the full moon and sadly passed away the week after. Logically, I knew that something like this was possible at her age, but emotionally, you can never truly prepare for it. Knowing astrology can sometimes feel like both a blessing and a curse. I understood how this full moon could affect me, especially based on the area of my chart it hit, combined with Pluto’s critical degree energy. But even with that awareness, I clung to hope. When she was admitted to the hospital, I thought she might pull through—there was a brief glimmer of optimism, even after doctors suggested ending active care and transitioning her to palliative care—unfortunately most of the time hospitals are only concerned with two things: money and beds (there was a man put in a bed in the middle of the corridor because there were no rooms left in the ward).
Doctors told us she only had 24 hours to live, but we begged them to try to help her. They administered fluids, and she hung on for a week longer than they initially predicted. Eventually, they began giving her small doses of morphine to ease her visible pain, and she passed away within a couple of days.
Interestingly, my best friend shared a similar story about her cousin, who passed after being given morphine in the hospital. The day before, her cousin had been sitting upright in bed, reading a book and chatting away to her as normal. After the morphine was introduced, she passed the next day. Perhaps it’s coincidental and we’re just reading too much into it, but I wonder if anyone else resonates with this experience.
The bond between a grandparent and grandchild is unlike any other, and her love shaped my life in ways words cannot fully capture. Her strength, love, and sacrifices built the foundation of our family. She came to the UK not knowing a word of English and worked three jobs at a time—tough, manual labor jobs like cleaning, working in factories, and standing all day in shops—all to provide for her children. And to imagine, this was all during a time of overt racism and blatant discrimination, with no such thing as equal or fair pay—something my grandfather always fought for.
My grandfather’s words echo in my mind during this time: “Time waits for no man.” He used to say this to me often when I was growing up, and now, those words feel more poignant than ever. I find myself replaying memories with my grandmother, wishing I had cherished them more deeply. It’s something that’s hard to grasp as a child, and even as an adult, moments can slip through your fingers. I’ll never see her warm smile again, taste the meals that she’d spend all day preparing for her grandchildren, or feel the kind of prayers and protection only a grandparent can give. But I find solace knowing she’s with God now, reunited with her siblings and that I’ve gained the most fiercely devoted protector as part of my ancestry, watching over me.
‘Time waits for no man,’ reminds me of the cycle of life. After her passing, I visited the care home where she had been staying. I knew her energy would still linger there (energy never dies—it only transforms). To my surprise—but also not—it had already been cleared out. Her room had been emptied, and a new resident moved in the very next day. It was a stark reminder of life’s brutal pace. The world keeps turning, with or without you. You either move with it, or you get left behind.
This cycle of life, death, and rebirth is inherently Plutonian. Pluto governs transformation, death, and rebirth. Its lessons are rarely gentle, often uprooting life in the harshest ways, but it also leaves space for renewal and growth. At the time of my grandmother’s passing, Pluto was in Capricorn—the sign of old structures, traditions, and even grandparents—and at the critical degree, signaling the end of an era before its transition into Aquarius. This energy wouldn’t have impacted everyone the same way; it depends on where Capricorn is placed in your chart. For someone like me, with strong Capricorn placements, the connection to grandparents and tradition runs deep. If this resonates with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a firstborn or an only child. Cardinal and Saturnian placements often carry the weight of family legacies, culture, and traditions.
‘The feeling of someone's absence is often the feeling of their presence’—my best friend said to me after I shared the news. It’s true—people don’t disappear; they exist in another space, a different timeline. I know she’ll visit me again, and I’ll feel her presence. I’ve already experienced this with one of my other grandparents, but perhaps that’s a story for another time.
For now, I hold on to her memory and take comfort in knowing she’s at peace. Until we meet again, rest in power to the most louder-than-life Leo I know…<3
<3 <3 <3