March 1, 2013

Celebrate Life or Mourn Loss

I was such a grandad's girl growing up that his death hit me very badly. I couldn't believe that he would never be with me again. We would never walk the dog in the park, or go along the town to 'Lows' for the 'messages'. We would never faff about the garden & I would never learn any more Latin names for the flowers he had. I would never play in the Volkswagen Beetle again or sit on the towel rail bumpers. He would never be making making soup for my lunch from a small cube packet or collect me from the Brownies.

My grandad made me bunk beds for dolls, a K9 so I could go to a fancy dress party as Dr Who's assistant Leia.

My dad died when I was very young and Ernie took over the roll as father, protector, playmate, teacher and confidant.

I could tell my grandad anything, he never judged me. Apart from when my 1st car wasn't a Ford Scorpio Cosworth. (I think he was a bit disappointed that he didn't get to drive one) but he did seem to like my taste in Sciroccos.

Even 15 years since he died I can still remember where I was and what I was doing when the hospital called me. I was taking paint of skirting boards and listening to The Verve, aptly listening to 'The Drugs Don't Work', it took me years to be able to listen to it without bursting into tears.

If I can be half the person my grandad was then I'll be happy.

The major thing I need to acknowledge is that he wasn't just my grandad, he was a son, brother, husband, father and friend too.

My grandad's death affected me more than I thought it would, I know deep down it was a blessing as after several strokes and cancer took hold, there wasn't really much left of the man himself. He was just a shell who looked like Ernie.

I travelled to the hospital after hearing the news about my grandad, taking chocolates for the nurses who had cared for him. Bizarre but true, they had lost a fabulous patient too.

I was shell shocked and scarred by my grandma sitting at his beside repeatedly telling me that her husband wasn't dead, he was still breathing, she could hear him. I had to tell her that she was wrong, she was imagining it, her life's love had gone.

The Drugs Don't Work
However, she was the only one who was allowed to grieve. We had no right to, we hadn't loved him as much, we hadn't known him as long.

I supported my grandma as much as I could, but it wasn't enough, I wasn't my grandad and I wasn't strong enough. I failed her and failed him because I couldn't keep him alive.

So, yeah I miss Ernie. I mourn the loss of a great guy and celebrate the RAF flight engineer who came to work in Grangemouth and apart from 4 years in Egypt fixing aeroplanes, never left.

Even now, I carry him with me along with the memories of rain dances for grow his roses and being convinced every time I had a cut or scrape that 'New Skin' wouldn't nip.

Delighted to have known him, I'm super happy that my son has a fabulous papa too.


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