Loving memory

Death. 

The finality of it leaves a ragged, gaping hole, but also the comfort of knowing. No more 'change in condition'. No more 'deterioration'. No more preparing for the worst. The worst has arrived.

But it was almost a relief. Upon hearing that news the tears finally began to slow and dry up. It was over; he could finally sleep.

Maybe I would have felt differently had I not left again, had I not said my final goodbye. It was beautiful, and I couldn't have asked for anything more. We held each other for so long and made desperate attempts at humour, as I cried into his hair. Both in the knowledge that this would be the last time. 

No one had any delusions. I would never see my Grandad again; that much was clear.

It was just a matter of time before his passing: an abstract concept when I could no longer hear his quick wit, nor feel the unwavering strength in his grip.

Those who remained with him saw further and harsher realities to an already bleak picture. But I don't think there was pain - a blessing.

*          *          *          *          *

You did so well; stretching a prediction of two days into two months. You made death fear you.

You are strong. You are amazing. You are my Grandad. 

*          *          *          *          *

So how did this affect reality?

It meant that I got to fly home again; a week in Glasgow. Less than two weeks after returning from Christmas break. You lot clearly can't cope without me (and are going to some seriously desperate measures to get me back). =P

It meant that I missed, not one, but two Bed nights.

It meant that this blog missed a weekly post. (How will you ever recover from such a hardship?)

It meant missing my statistics exam. 

It meant that I missed volunteering at the film festival.

It meant batting people away as they tried to pass on their condolences. And making many failed attempts to casually disseminate the news. But, apparently, I'm just not that smooth...just dropping the news like a bombshell onto unsuspecting victims. Oops.

And, of course, it meant attending my first funeral. I guess it was as nice as a funeral can be. There was a lovely minster, who actually knew my Grandad personally, which really made a difference. And the amount of people who attended was heart warming. It was one of those rare opportunities to see all the extended family together again. Funerals and weddings tend to do that I suppose. 

Despite all of this, I feel okay. It was time. And I feel so lucky for those two weeks at Christmas with my Grandad and the rest of my family!

I feel like to respect his memory and celebrate his life, it is important to find (sometimes morbid) humour whenever possible. And to laugh and smile with the memories instead of wallowing in the sadness of his passing. We need to live.

So it's time to return to Rotterdam, starting the new semester positively: meeting new people and (hopefully) future friends. But the details of all those adventures will come next week.

*          *          *          *          *

You were so many things to so many people, and will be sorely missed. A husband, father of five, grandfather of twelve, and great-grandfather of four.

Andy

July 1933 - January 2014

Rest in peace.