Loved ones keep teaching us long after they leave

Grief is weird like that. It creates a sort of time blindness.

My cousin, Carmen, wrote a little book when our Nan passed away and had it printed to share with the people who came to farewell her at her funeral last year, called Pauline's Pocket Wisdom: lessons from a life well lived.

Coming across it again over the weekend has given me pause as I reflect on her life and our time shared together.

Despite her sporting a wavy perm, and regularly being seen wearing floral blouses and capri pants, she was anything but an average little old lady. Beneath her Nivea-soft skin beat the heart of a rebel who was a crack shot with a .22 rifle, 9mm pistol and a sub-machine gun.

She had a razor-sharp wit and an outlook on life her daughters and granddaughters often turned to for advice ... and continue to do so even now that she's taken up residence amongst the stars.

I thought it would be a fitting tribute to mark this anniversary by sharing some of her pearls of wisdom with you - from 100 years of a life well lived.

First, you're never too old. If you want to do something, just get a move on and get started. Our Nan moved across the world and learned to drive for the first time in her 50s, rode her first roller-coaster in her 60s, travelled the world in her 70s, she was

still doing headstands well into her 80s, and she designed a pair of "bobby dazzler" tassel earrings in her 90s.

She didn't believe in age restrictions. "Age is just a number" she'd say, "and it's all perspective anyway." She often reminded me that turning 70 looks good when you're 20 years past it. So while the best time to have done something or started something may have been 20 years ago, often, the second best time to do it is today.

Our Nan was big on listening. Listening was really her superpower. She had a way with giving people the time and space to unpack what they were going through and sort through it all out loud with her sitting patiently as a sounding board. Sometimes, that was all that was needed - just the space to talk through a problem for the solution to being to emerge. But failing that, Nan never disappointed.

She was always ready with a fresh perspective that helped us to see the issue in a new light and find a solution where we hadn't looked for one previously. Listening was one of the greatest gifts she gave us.

"Just be you," she would say. "No one is better at being you, than you." I don't know if she ever met Dr Seuss, but clearly, he has taken inspiration from her. She gave us permission to enjoy ourselves, to be proud of ourselves, to feel good, but she held us to the standard of being true to who and what we really were inside. Everything else was just fluff.

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I have always thought Nan was ahead of her time. She was "inclusive" and so open minded before it was trendy. She believed that you needed to be self-confident, to walk tall, and to march to the beat of your own drum, as long as you aren't hurting anyone.

She was considerate and thoughtful of other people and how they might feel and think and she always, always, always made sure that the children were seen and were heard, especially when it was really important that they were. I don't ever remember growing up with an "adults table" and a "kids table" - only ever a "family table." And as a kid in particular, I loved that.

There have been so many moments over the past year that I've picked up my phone to tell her about, only to remember that she wasn't on the other end anymore. It's those little sucker punches that grief doles out that really reminds you of what you've lost.

But I will continue to follow her legacy of wisdom, and her self-proclaimed secret to long life: breathing in and breathing out.