Normally when I take half day I usually feel very stressed and under a huge amount of pressure to get everything finished and Thursday as lunchtime approached I did not feel like this. In a weird way I felt a odd sense of calm wash over me. I knew that I would be rushed off my feet in the few hours before I relaxed into the salon chair to have my hair done before meeting my family for dinner and reminiscing about some of the the times we had with Grandad and with each other.
Unfortunately for me this would not be the case. Sweating in the sweltering heat of my Orange Vivienne that in ASDA car park, Mr. Warehouse and I called my Nanny Pumpkin to find out what time she was due to be at the restaurant this evening. After ringing through a few times she finally answered flustered and in a bit of a flap. On enquiring what was wrong I was told that after my Uncle and Auntie had landed from Ireland they had going to visit my grandfather in the funeral parlour at Nevilles. Following this harsh reality my Uncle hit the bottle. In all honesty I am still pretty impressed that he was able to do a whole bottle of brandy in the space of about fifteen-minutes.
in a way it is quite easy for myself and the rest of the family to maybe forget just how how hard that kick from reality must have been. Both my Auntie and my Uncle live abroad and as a result there is an almost inability to connect with what is happening back home sometimes I think that some members of my family would be worth noting that whilst others have had time to process the news, others have not. Whilst I acknowledge that Granddad's death was certainly not out of the blue or something quick, the luxury almost of being away from constant conversation or updates about his progress or not at the case may be almost lends itself to the fact that they were sheltered almost from the reality until they landed on Thursday Afternoon.
And so it was with a heavy heart that I gave up my mojito in a nice restaurant and instead opted for a healthy salad whilst everybody else in on Indian or Chinese takeaway. But I missed out on all the drama when I went to collect the food with my other uncle and Mr Warehouse. So the story goes that my father turned up and when he confronted my uncle in the kitchen of my Nanny Pumpkins house it all went to pot and my family started a slanging match. Now don't get me wrong, all families argue, but I just hoped that given the circumstances at the time that things would have been left and not acted upon or challenged at all in one way or another one for each and every one of us were in some sort of shock, upset or grief including hurting and anger. No matter which way you look at it that was not the moment to pick an argument for have a fight. After my father left and my other uncle, Mr Warehouse and I arrived back home with dinner everything was tense. Here's hoping that everything would be OK tomorrow for that was the last thing that we needed another point for argument.
Waking up on the morning of the funeral with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all. Hiding my head under the covers, Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass. Getting ready and heading down to my grandparents home, it's strangely had an almost wedding day like feel. With everything organised and things in place there was nothing left to do but turn up and hopefully try and enjoy what we could offer day whilst we remembered a great man. Throughout the morning as I helped people get ready and dressed, fed and watered, I can tell that Mr Warehouse was watching to see if and when I would crack. Truth be told I was fine and I had grieved for my grandfather many years ago. In a morbid sort of way I just wanted to get today over and done with so we could all start to move on.
Arriving outside the church it was getting hotter and hotter. As the sun shone down on us standing there in our black glory I looked over to see my uncle crying which made me feel quite uncomfortable, all in the knowledge that there was simply nothing I could do to make his pain go away or for the feeling to get any better. I looked over to Mr Warehouse and he gave me a sweet smile. Soon it was time to go in and with this I stepped forward after my Grandma and my youngest cousins at just twelve and eight. I walked into the church alone and with nobody by my side. This was not how it was supposed to be. My brother should have been here by my side, and yet after all the trying and attempts made to get him to reply to my messages or even acknowledge what had happened, I walked alone. In away as I saw everybody look in our direction I realised that they were not looking at me or even my Nanna, but at the military draped coffin. I felt the lump in my throat get larger as I watched The Pine coffin being carried along the aisle the brass cross emblazoned on the back of the coffin was all I could focus my attention on and hope that I did not trip in this god awful heels.
Sitting down on the second row on the right hand side of the church, I familiarise myself with the pictures and images I had seen as a child of Jesus Christ and other holy sentiments. It certainly was a blast from the past as I remember the times from my childhood where things were a lot less stressful and there was a lot less drama. Things were simpler back then but I was also a child and this is what happens when you grow up. People die. After listening to my father's eulogy it made me feel so proud as he stood along his two brothers, telling Granddad's life story and explaining some of the myths and legends that surrounded the man himself. Listening to that piece about my grandfather and looking around at the people that the Sat listening to only made me appreciate him more for everything that he had achieved in life and even opened my eyes to a few things I did not know about him.
As the service came to a close I stepped out from the church into the bright sparkling sunshine. Seeing some of my mother's side of the family come to pay their respects warmed my heart and made me feel as close to crying as I possibly came throughout the day. Everyone complimented me and my family on how beautiful and personal the service was. But it was not over yet so I had to say my bit too at the crematorium. Bundling back into my Viv, I raced across town in order to try and beat the traffic in order to get to the venue first. I wanted to make sure that I was not going to be late and that I had plenty of time to maybe rehearse or even look over my notes. I could not get this wrong. I had one job and this was it. With my grandfather yet again being carried into the crematorium for the very last time again I walked in alone after my grandmother and cousins. This is not the last few weeks have been leading up to. As I was 'introduced' and took the stand I knew that this was the moment everybody had been waiting for. What was she going to say and was it going to be appropriate?
Song Lyrics? Nah. A Poem? Nope. An
extract from a book? No. I have wondered for weeks what would be a good way to
start this off but somehow ripping off someone else’s writing, no matter how
good it is just simply isn’t my style - Is it granddad?
What do I say? Truth be told, what does
anyone say? Sorry just seems a bit bland. Your not sorry. Neither am I. I had
some wonderful memories with my grandfather. I don't have anything to be
apologetic for yet everything to be grateful, thankful and appreciative of.
We had some great memories though didn’t we. Like that time after
your eye operation that you had to wear an eye patch. I told everyone at school
that your fought off a bear or that you are secretly a pirate. I
remember when, after a few weeks of being a one-eyed bandit, Me and Sean
thought it would be a good idea to cut out pictures of eyes from the magazines
and stick them on your patch. The real fun though came when we figured out that
heavily made up ladies eyes were much funnier!
Or how about the time that time when we had a birthday party and I thought it would be really funny to throw marbles out the
window with my friends to spook people. The frustrating thing is that it never
worked as they would always bounce off your soft grey afro hair!
Do you recall that moment when we were on holiday? The towels we
soaked from a day at the beach or the pool and we hung them on the back of the
sun-loungers to dry off. But it was all too much for the white plastic frame
for when you came along to take a seat the whole thing just gave way leaving
you mangled in a heap of plastic and soggy towels.
There was that moment that we went out for dinner at a quiet
French village. Dusk settling in and with the hilltop vineyards as our view it
was perfect. That was until the young waitress came along with our drinks,
tripped, and showered you with a mix of wine and fizzy pop. Oh lord your were
so mad, but I think looking back on it the faces you pulled and some of the
choice English phrases you told the poor lass only makes for a funnier memoir.
One of my favourite tales, and I am sure that this will become one
of yours too when I tell it is the time you visited Uncle Dave and Auntie
Bernie at their Irish country cottage. From all accounts Granddad was outside
coming in and on a stone floor with crutches and the dogs at his feet it was
difficult keeping his balance. I suppose in a way a big slobbery dog is the
last thing you want when trying to negotiate your way to the sofa and yet there
she was. But before my grandfather knew it the floor seemed to give way under
his crutches after placing them on what we thought was doggy dribble. In a
spectacular style and yelling to my Nanna all the way he fell over. For years
Granddad you thought it was dog slobber you slipped on. I am sorry to tell you
that it was not. It was a puddle of wee.
Over the years as I got older and grew from a sweet child into an independent women we shared in a stories and anecdotes about travelling the world or my sometimes eclectic dating life. I always loved hearing tales of the good old days where my grandparents were young and walking on the moon was a myth thought up by dreamers. I myself hoped that someday I would have something as special as what my grandparents had. A love to surpass all others, born out of a pure organic romance that all started because my Nanny Pumpkin was paid to come on a double date with a friend! What I want to know was how much were you paid, because you had something with granddad that is priceless and eternally lasting. All I can pray for is that one day I can reach your level of marriage where playful bickering and comedic arguments only ended when one of you laughed it off. Or muttered under your breath, which ever the other one couldn’t hear.
But for me personally
my fondest memory was the arduous task of him teaching me how to ride a bike.
All the cuts and the grazes, all the tears and tantrums. I cant remember how
many times I stomped my feet in a grump or walked off in a huff but my goodness
there was many. I hated him for it but Granddad would always make sure I came
back to my little pink bike with a basket up front, shiny new white tyres and
frilly tassels billowing out of the handlebars. He taught me the surest life
lesson that would see me through many a problem or difficulty, probably
making me the person that I am today. When you fall off your bike you should
always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the
worse it becomes when you do. And that is what we have to remember here
today is that whilst it is hard and horrible to say goodbye, we need to pick
ourselves up and get peddling again. For this is not a goodbye but a mere see
you soon
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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