For my other Grandad...

This time last year I was struggling with the gut punch of the death of my first Grandad to die and honestly its still something that sucker punches me on a regular basis and takes the air from my lungs in a silent gasp of shock and pain (especially at this time of year and even more so in this current situation).

Now, its time to go through the same thing again with my other Grandad W - my Mum's father... its an upsettingly similar experience, he was dying from heart failure, his heart wasn’t strong enough anymore to keep his vital organs functioning the way they should. He slowly powered down and it was a very difficult process for everyone involved. Metaphorically, I'm not sure my heart is as strong anymore either - but unfortunately for both my Grandad's, their problem was literal.

This time last year I wouldn't have imagined writing a blog post for my other Grandad when he died, we didn't have the same relationship, in fact we don't really even know each other that well - but just as my Dad's father (Grandad M) made me the person I am today, so did my Mum's father (Grandad W).

I don't know much about my Grandad W. I know he was an engineer in the army, which I actually only found out recently now that I'm training to become an engineer too (though not the same type of engineer and definitely not in the army). I know that he was a formidable man, in fact when I was younger, I was quite scared of him - he had this bushy black beard and even though he wasn't tall - he seemed huge to me. He was loud, he was opinionated, he didn’t care what other people thought - he was so very different to how I was. He was my first experience of real violence - he got in a fight with my uncle when we stayed at their house, and ended up being thrown through a window. I heard it all from upstairs whilst my little sister (thankfully) slept and it was terrifying, I don't know how old I was, but I was already scared of him (and my uncle) and for a long time, that felt justified.

The softer sides of my Grandad I've only really experienced through other peoples relationships with him and through his gifts - which I actually really treasure(d) - he gave me a giant panda bear teddy that he named Fred who I used to have in my bed and cuddle up with. Fred got thrown out when my parents moved to their bungalow but I do have this wonderful photo of Harry lying on Fred which makes me happy. The other gift I have from him is a beautiful match stick jewelry box which he made himself (I think). I'm a sucker for handmade gifts, though I don't really know if others put the intent that I do into mine - but I liked the idea that maybe he did.

My Grandad W made my mother the woman she is today - she too is formidable because of him - though not violently. In fact my sister and all my aunts - my Mother's sisters - and their daughters too, share that aspect. They're headstrong, they're determined and they don't let anyone get in their way. (Since starting to write this, I’m slowly getting my head around the idea that I might be all those things too - imagine that.) My Grandad encouraged them to know things, how to change a plug for instance (my mother taught me too). He encouraged them to be vocal with their opinions (sorry about that Dad ha) and he supported them in who they became - he was a man who created strong women and for that I am grateful. If my Grandad M was a man of his time, my Grandad W was ahead of it!

In turn, my mother made me the person I am. His influence lingers. She talks of him often and her sadness fuels mine in her current situation. My empathy has no limits when it concerns my parents and sisters feeling - they hurt, I hurt - I'm struggling to figure where her pain ends and my begins. My cousin too who I am close to, has a much closer relationship with my Grandad W - and knowing shes hurting hurts me too. Our families may be separated, yet these ties, they don't really break, even if some wished they would.

Once again, I'm drawn to the comparison of my Grandad's - which when I think about it seems unfair - they were so different. They are so different. Yet they represent these very different sides of me, where I came from and ultimately who I am still becoming - and they will both linger, in different ways.

I don’t really know how to finish this - I’m still not 100% sure how I’m feeling… there is sadness and regret, in the way things turned out even though I couldn’t have changed much. There’s sadness at the loss of someone who meant so much to my family and there’s sadness for the relationship that I guess we never had. I think that mostly though I’ve realised I was genuinely fond of him - in spite of the lack of relationship, in spite of myself I guess haha and definitely in spite of him. I am truly sad to say hes gone.

Rest in peace Grandad - its definitely going to be a lot duller and quieter here without you (even with everyone you’ve left behind ha!) And thank you for my Mum - she is the best and a lot of that is because of you.

For my Grandad...

I've been a bit quiet around here and on social media lately and thats because my Grandad died on the 1st of this month - and today is his funeral.

Some of you may remember, way back when, that my Grandad was a huge fan of this blog, I even wrote him a birthday blog post on his 80th birthday and so many of you lovely people left him a comment which he loved reading.

So today, I want to share something that I've written for the funeral here - it seems the least I can do for him, after he did so much for me and for my sister. So here goes... 

I must confess that I started writing this before my Grandad died… which perhaps sounds morbid, but I always knew that if I was going to say anything about him to anyone, it was going to be a celebration of his life, a celebration of our relationship and of course, a celebration of his life with all of his family – who love him so much. 

Although he lived a long life, I’m before you as someone who only knew my Grandad for the last 30 years of his life – as someone who only knew him in one role. You might think that would give me a limited perspective on him – and it’s definitely a hugely biased one as I mentioned – but not limited at all.  I’ve heard it said that my sister, cousins and I got our time with him in the prime of his life but that would only be defining prime by age and I would say that from the beginning to the very end, my Grandad was always in his prime – because he was always true to himself.

My Grandad was who he was – if you knew him, you automatically liked him – there was no pretense or putting on airs. He knew where he came from and he got on with what he needed to do, for himself and more often, for others. I often wonder if other people his age were the same when they were younger – or if he truly was just one of a kind to be so dedicated and sure - and to make it look so effortless and easy. To someone of a younger generation, his life is almost hard to believe – he worked in the same job his whole life, he spent over 50 years living in one house, he didn’t want for much and he appreciated everything he had… in some ways, he was unremarkable in his steadiness of life, yet that in itself, to me is what makes him so remarkable.

It’s easy to ignore a quieter presence in the corner, and often that was my Grandad when we were all together – not that he was that quiet, but he sat, he watched, he laughed and he let the louder people be loud. Yet it’s often those presences, the consistently there, the dedicated people who are happy to sit back and let others enjoy the attention that make the biggest impact and that presence, his presence, will be so deeply missed.

My memories of my Grandad are very much like him – nothing overly grand or dramatic, yet each one genuine. Each one is honest and true, from digging up potatoes in the back garden to building boats and sandcastles in the sand. We were always laughing at his silly jokes and having the biggest hugs, right until the end.

My parents always say that I must have got my creativity from my Grandad- and its true – he taught me to draw, he taught me to paint. But he also taught me so much more - he taught me how to look at something and really see it, he taught me the importance of working hard on something and of being consistent, even when its difficult.

After my Dad, my Grandad was the second man I gave a piece of my heart to and he helped nurture that love and trust in so many ways. He was always himself – and he let me be myself too, he never judged me or wanted anything from me other than to see me and spend time with me – and there’s something so freeing in knowing that kind of genuine relationship with someone. I’m sure everyone here felt that from him too, that pureness of spirit he had.

In his death, my Grandad has taken that piece of my heart with him, but it’s not a loss, because he always had it and I’ve always had a piece of him with me – just like I will continue to do so for the rest of my life. He’s going to be with me every time I draw, every time I paint, every time my Dad does exactly the same chuckle that sounds exactly like Grandad's. He’ll be there when we redecorate our house and when I start growing my own tomatoes and sneaking them to my niece or nephew. He’s there every time I see my family and now he’ll be with me every time someone asks me if I’m alright and I reply ‘No, I’m half left’.

I love you Grandad, thank you so, so much for everything.