Two weeks ago, I said goodbye to one of the most influential people in my life. Many of you know my grandmother, Edna, and many others have read about her in this column.

At nearly 101, Nan left us, and left a big hole in our lives. It's not a sad occasion, although we all are sad. She had a long and fulfilling life and I personally feel that this is what I should celebrate.

After all, there is not too many people my age that can say they still had a grandmother around who cooked the Christmas pork, knitted her great-grandkids a real wool jumper and could still sew in a zipper without the assistance of a pair of glasses at 100 years old.

My nan was born in 1913 in Durham, England, a coalmining village. She grew up in a strict Methodist house, where dancing was frowned upon, Sunday was religiously spent doing nothing as it was a day of rest, and women did not wear trousers.

At 13, she had to leave school even though she had received a scholarship to study at the prestigious private school down the road, but back in those days, if money was tight, it was the boys who were blessed with an education.

It was one of the biggest regrets of her life, that she didn't get to finish school, and in her last few years, she confided that she would have relished the opportunity to go to university and do a business degree. And I'm sure if she had been a few years younger, she probably would have, because at the ripe old age of 99 she learnt how to use an iPad and send us regular emails to let us know that we were always in her thoughts.

Her funeral was held in the Church in the Mall and I'm ashamed to admit, she had more people come to farewell her than I believe I will have.

The Lord Mayor conducted the service, having known my nan in his capacity as minister of the church during his tenure.

A widow from her early 20s, Nan wasn't one to let sentiment get in the way of getting things done.

As a 16-year-old, I came from Wagga Wagga to live with her and in her 60s, she had to learn about the world of teens in a hurry. She was introduced to many concepts her own father would have frowned upon but which she took in her stride and only reminded me every so often to "keep myself nice".

She lived through two wars, a great depression, the building and tearing down of the Berlin Wall, the advent of dial-up phones, mobile phones and smartphones, computers and internet, the demise of the horse and cart, and milk that came in cartons.

She saw the world change, and she changed with it, not too much, but enough that she didn't raise her eyebrows when I didn't get married in a church, or comment when my younger brother had three kids without getting married at all.

She saved everything I have ever written and sent them back to the relatives in the UK enclosed in the handwritten letters she sent up until just before she passed away. She remembered what all her grandkids, great-grandkids, nephews, nieces and their kids and grandkids were doing.

I only saw her cry once, when she recalled waving goodbye to my grandfather from her Gwynneville home when he left in 1941 to fight in the war with Australian infantry, the last time she saw him. I like to believe that he was there waiting and waving for her when she closed her eyes that last time.