We buried Grand-pa on Tuesday

Today's Mood - Contemplative

We buried my Grand-pa on Tuesday. Well, I say "buried" in the leanest sense of the word as he was actually cremated. Somehow, "we cremated Grand-pa today" doesn't have the same ring to it!

Grand-pa had reached the ripe old age of 98 and in truth the last time I had seen him (just a few weeks previously) had been the first time I had seen him in donkey's years. The difference between then and donkeys years was vast - he was half the man he had been, the nursing home had "lost" his teeth and 2 pairs of glasses and he was wearing clothes that weren't his! If this is how the aged are treated when they can no longer look after themselves, then I am all for euthanasia, or just dying young! But still, my Grand-pa had that mischievious grin and that sparkle in his eye.

Apparently when I was a cheeky little girl, I used to hold my fist to Grand-pa's face and say "smell at this Grand-pa". I can't actually remember that, but Grand-pa always told me that's what I did!

His wife, my Step-nan, or Aunty Freda as we call her (who is also in her 90's) was an absolute pillar through the whole service. The service, in Tewkesbury Abbey no less, was a small but very respectful affair. The vicar, Steve Short, was young and I have no idea if he knew Grand-pa personally but he did not seem to be just be going through the motions in delivering the service - he was compassionate and pitched things just right. I must admit, I thought he called my dad Nick, not Mick a couple of times but that may just be my hearing. Throughout the service, I tried to keep my head down and choke back the tears that were welling. Not tears because I was sad really, but more a reaction to the overall emotion in the air. The service taught me a few things about my Grand-pa that I never knew before, like that he was a firefighter in the 2nd world war!

It was quite a long car journey to the crematorium, but the vicar obviously tore down the motorway to Cheltenham as he was there on the steps of the crematorium when we all pulled up. Or maybe he had a twin!

Through the second (and brief) service to say the final goodbye, although I welled up a few times, I was doing well.... until the last minute that is, when Freda reached out to touch the curtain that shielded us from the sight of Grand-pa's coffin being taken away. Why is that moment always the worst? And that was it, a loud sob escaped and I looked across at my cousin and she started too!

My family has never been very close, and this was only the second time I had ever met my Uncle (my dad's elder brother) and his wife and the first time I had seen some of my cousins for at least 20 years! I did a bit of a double take with my Uncle, as he looked and sounded just like Grand-pa did 30 years or so ago!

I don't have many memories of Grand-pa really, what with the family not really keeping in touch. I think the first time I remember seeing my Grand-pa was when he and Aunty Freda came down to Cornwall, not long before we were jetting off to hotter climes to live for a few years and they drove up in a lovely white car. I must have been about 5 at the time. A few years later in the late 70's. my sister and I stayed with them in their caravan home for a few days and I recall going out for the day with Grand-pa as he drove his coach around. That's not many memories is it?

Thank-you BB for pushing me to make the effort to go to Tewkesbury a few weeks back to see the old boy. I'm glad I did.
Grand-pa, rest in peace, and smell at this!