Today, things aren't 'wrong', or at least not in the way I used that word last week. However, they are a bit sad.
Over the past few weeks, my grandfather, my dad's dad, has been fading. He lost his wife of 65 years last October. He turned 92 a month a go. There was no defined illness, no heart attack, no cancer - just old age, and I think some sadness on his part too.
He passed away early yesterday morning.
Now it's our turn to be sad, even as this is an expected passing. I feel for my Dad and his siblings most, as the loss of two parents must be so different to the loss of one. My aunt, who lives in the Victorian town that my grandparents moved to a few years back, has had a particularly rough few months.
For me, whilst my grandmother's passing highlighted the finality of death, my grandfather's death (and the lead up to it) highlights the inevitability of it. Everyone I care about is going to die eventually. I know that isn't news. In fact, I fear I sound a bit precious to only be realising this at the age of 28. We all live, and we all die, but knowing that in theory just isn't the same as realising it, truly and for real, in a personal way.
It does make you appreciate the people who are here whilst they're here, and the days that are lived.
When my grandmother died, I found it helpful to focus on the things she had taught me, the things I was grateful for, and the memories I had of her. For my grandfather, I would like to do the same. These are the grandparents I grew up with, after all, who lived an hour away from us for much of my childhood. They looked after me and my brother when my sister was born. They came to our school concerts. We spent Christmas and Easter with them. We stayed in their spare bedrooms.
My Grandpa taught me many things over those childhood, and later teenage, and later adult, years.
That it's ok to listen, to be quiet, to speak softly.
That you can be smart and wise without being noisy about it.
That caring about your family is important.
That looking after the one you love comes first, before anything, even if it's hard on you.
That you can grow, and make, things that are far better than anything you buy at a shop.
That you can get great pleasure from simple things. A walk, a flower, a cup of tea, cornflakes for breakfast.
That dessert is the best part of the meal, and things are sweeter with sugar.
That caring for people means expressing interest, genuine interest, in who they are and what they're interested in.
That you can live a long and productive and wonderful life, and leave so many good memories that your own memory will always be treasured.
His memory will be treasured, always.
Over the past few weeks, my grandfather, my dad's dad, has been fading. He lost his wife of 65 years last October. He turned 92 a month a go. There was no defined illness, no heart attack, no cancer - just old age, and I think some sadness on his part too.
He passed away early yesterday morning.
Now it's our turn to be sad, even as this is an expected passing. I feel for my Dad and his siblings most, as the loss of two parents must be so different to the loss of one. My aunt, who lives in the Victorian town that my grandparents moved to a few years back, has had a particularly rough few months.
For me, whilst my grandmother's passing highlighted the finality of death, my grandfather's death (and the lead up to it) highlights the inevitability of it. Everyone I care about is going to die eventually. I know that isn't news. In fact, I fear I sound a bit precious to only be realising this at the age of 28. We all live, and we all die, but knowing that in theory just isn't the same as realising it, truly and for real, in a personal way.
It does make you appreciate the people who are here whilst they're here, and the days that are lived.
When my grandmother died, I found it helpful to focus on the things she had taught me, the things I was grateful for, and the memories I had of her. For my grandfather, I would like to do the same. These are the grandparents I grew up with, after all, who lived an hour away from us for much of my childhood. They looked after me and my brother when my sister was born. They came to our school concerts. We spent Christmas and Easter with them. We stayed in their spare bedrooms.
My Grandpa taught me many things over those childhood, and later teenage, and later adult, years.
That it's ok to listen, to be quiet, to speak softly.
That you can be smart and wise without being noisy about it.
That caring about your family is important.
That looking after the one you love comes first, before anything, even if it's hard on you.
That you can grow, and make, things that are far better than anything you buy at a shop.
That you can get great pleasure from simple things. A walk, a flower, a cup of tea, cornflakes for breakfast.
That dessert is the best part of the meal, and things are sweeter with sugar.
That caring for people means expressing interest, genuine interest, in who they are and what they're interested in.
That you can live a long and productive and wonderful life, and leave so many good memories that your own memory will always be treasured.
His memory will be treasured, always.
