Even when you are expecting death and
preparing for it, it still comes as a shock. I was on holiday at the end of the
December, having a much-needed sunny break, but upon arrival back at Heathrow,
I found out Grandad had passed away on the penultimate night of the holiday.
He was 89 and a half – he’d
wanted to get to 90 – and had moved from hospitals to dementia homes throughout 2015. This left Gran alone in their huge, old family house
that they’d shared together for half a decade. They’d celebrated their diamond
wedding anniversary (65 years) that summer, although I'm not sure whether Grandad was aware of it.
I’d only recently been to visit him in
the home. Although he looked frail, had grown whiskers as he was no longer able to
shave, and had a huge plaster on his head from where he’d had a fall, he still
looked as if he’d make 90, for sure. And although he wasn’t really
able to hold a conversation – at least not one that linked in any way to what I
had said or asked – he was still ‘in there’, somewhere, probably incredibly
frustrated at the fact he could not get anyone to understand him. I had gone there with Gran, and she was still talking to him normally, hoping he would respond in a way that indicated he understood. When he didn't, I could see she was frustrated and upset. I just did what
I’d done with Nanna six years previously, which was to chat away – as I can
easily do! – but then change topic to respond to his random statements about
house repairs he still needed to do, or things that weren’t working. But I could see this was too hard for my gran to do,
understandably. For there was the formerly strong, capable man, who took care
of all the finances, did all the driving, made all the repairs around the
house and always had an opinion on things, now finding it hard to even take a sip of tea from a
plastic beaker, like the ones babies use when learning to drink.
We truly do go back to being helpless like newborns, but it must be so much
harder the second time around, having been fully functioning adults.
ONCE UPON A TIME: At home with Grandad, probably in 1980 |
Although he may have lost his ability to converse coherently, Grandad's was still in there. I think he regained some of his teenage mischievousness, as I later learned he frequently tried to ‘escape’ from the home. He would push open the fire exit, then wait
for the carers to arrive only to tell them, with a glint in
his eye: ‘You took your time!’ He was their favourite, apparently, even
if he did cause trouble. Sometimes it would be hard for Mum and Gran to visit
him, as he’d demand to be taken home and come with them to the door, then get
angry when he wasn’t allowed out.
But despite his mental state, he certainly
didn’t look as if he was going to leave us when he did. It was another fall that did
it. Cracked his collarbone with the impact. They rushed him to hospital where
he went down hill quite rapidly, so I was told. Fortunately Gran and one of my
uncles were there when he took his last breath. They both told me the room went
eerily quiet and it felt surreal. Mum and her other brother arrived not long
afterwards, so they could at least all grieve together, which was some small
comfort.
A psychic connection?
What I now find somewhat ‘spooky’, with hindsight, is how
both my grandparents had been on my mind so much during my holiday. I counted
back to what I was doing on the night Grandad died; my husband and I had been dining close to the
beach under a full moon that had around it an enormous halo. On our last night,
the one after he’d died, I saw another halo around the moon, this time rainbow colours and smaller. During our meal, an instrumental version of Over The Rainbow came on in the background. I’ve heard
this song plenty of times and not thought about Grandad, but this time I did,
and recalled how I’d played the scarecrow in a school play of The Wizard of Oz,
just as he’d done many years earlier for an amateur dramatics company. I also thought
about how how, out of an entire catalogue of patterns,
my two-year-old niece had chosen the scarecrow one for Gran to knit for her.
But it wasn’t just that. Half way
through the holiday we saw on TV that sports commentator Jimmy Hill had died.
And, just before the holiday, I learned
of the tragic death of a fellow colleague. I hadn’t known him personally but
he’d worked on the same floor. It shocked me at the sadness his family would
now be feeling at what is usually a celebratory time of year. I remember saying ‘I wonder who will be next? They do say
these things go in threes.' It didn't cross my mind that it would be my beloved grandfather.
I also kept seeing dragonflies on the beach. They’d be
buzzing around when I was in a pensive mood. Once, when I was seriously into 'signs' and synchronicity, I used to think they were linked
somehow to Grandad as he loved to visit Wales - the dragon being on their flag - and their home also contained lots of
emblematic dragons on plates and pictures, as well as two grumpy dragon statues
gracing the path outside. Were they symbolic of him connecting with me on an energetic level?
Signs from above?
On the last morning, as I was walking
along the beach after breakfast, a glorious rainbow arced through the sky. Rainbows always make me smile, so of course again I began to
think about Over The Rainbow, and took loads of pictures.
On the seaplane back
to the main airport a few hours later, I got to thinking about my grandparent’s
house, and how I wished I was rich enough to buy it, give it the massive
overhaul and update it needs and pay
for a live-in carer so Gran, also 89, could continue to live there. Tears welled in my eyes, perhaps sadness at the imminent loss of perhaps THE most
important place in my life, which played such a vital part of my childhood.
NO PLACE LIKE HOME: Gran and Grandad's house, which they lived in for half a century, and which was the backdrop to so many happy memories |
Most of my vivid early
memories are in that house or the garden: on a swing or tree house Grandad
made, eating boiled eggs he always cooked me for breakfast, or with Gran, who
sewed clothes for my Sindy dolls, read stories to me in bed, and baked cookies
and let me dress up in their Am Dram costumes from up in the loft. Grandad also
did card games and magic. He showed me how to play solitaire, and could do that
impressive thing where you cut the cards in half then fan both halves back
together.
PICK A CARD: Grandad entertaining me (middle, back) and my friends at one of my birthday parties in the 80s |
I don’t know why I thought about all
this as we were in the tiny aircraft, with nothing around to spark the memories
and thoughts, only a vast blue ocean dotted with islands. Was I somehow tuning
in to what was going on back home, I now wonder? Was I being intuitive? After
all, they do say people in separate rooms, even on other sides of the world,
can have psychic connections.
A SLICE OF MAGIC: Grandad with his 'faux cake', which opened up to reveal present boxes inside |
Over the Christmas break, probably sparked by the fact Gran was clearing out her entire house of 50
years’ worth of possessions, made worse by the fact neither she nor Grandad
ever threw anything away, I too got into tidy mode. The very first place I
began – a small drawer in the hallway – contained, hidden under old phones and
camera equipment, the box Grandad once made to do the 'magic penny' trick. Why had I chosen that drawer, out of nine, to begin? Was I being directed to search there? If I hadn’t begun
tidying, or had started in another room, I may never have found the box and therefore not ended up
using it during the speech I gave at the funeral. I couldn't help but think he wanted me to find it...
What Katy read...
A few nights later, I started
reading a book I bought ages ago called Honestly Katie John, published back in the 1930s I think. The first
page was about her playing solitaire with cards – the game Grandad taught me!
I’ve had that book for months, and it's one of a series of four, so
I found it weird that I'd 'decided' to read that one, at that time. Was
it another sign from Grandad? A way to remember him? Were any of these
‘signs’ little
messages? Sceptics would say not. I don’t know, but I found it odd
that in the period from my holiday to his funeral in January, I kept
seeing
lots of little thing that seemed related to him in some way, such as...
...Messages in movies?
I happened to catch The Wizard of Oz on TV. I know, I know, it’s on every year, but I usually miss it. I also caught the last ten minutes of Up, the Pixar animation where an old man, Mr Fredrickson, has to throw everything out of his house to get it to float, then at the end let it go. I couldn’t help but see the symbolism. Not only does the character look exactly like Grandad, and partly share a name, Fred, but he has to say goodbye to his house, which has been such a huge part of his life, in order to move on (see clip below).
I happened to catch The Wizard of Oz on TV. I know, I know, it’s on every year, but I usually miss it. I also caught the last ten minutes of Up, the Pixar animation where an old man, Mr Fredrickson, has to throw everything out of his house to get it to float, then at the end let it go. I couldn’t help but see the symbolism. Not only does the character look exactly like Grandad, and partly share a name, Fred, but he has to say goodbye to his house, which has been such a huge part of his life, in order to move on (see clip below).
Right at the very end he has to watch as it float away into the clouds. That set me off
crying again (see below). Unfortunately this video has been
edited so there are silly chipmunk clips inserted at various points,
which ruins it a bit but it was the only one I could find of this
scene...
A DIY WHIZZ: Grandad, with his wavy grey hair, square jaw and large glasses, reminded me of Mr Fredrickson from Up |
Inside a revolving trinket cabinet was a little guitar, which opened in half. I decided to buy it and see whether I could ask for a lock of Grandad's hair to put inside, so Gran could have it as a keepsake. I wasn't sure she'd like the idea, so was a bit nervous giving it to her after the funeral. But she loved it and was showing it to everyone.
HE WAS THE MUSIC MAN: Grandad playing one of his many musical instruments (and me looking bashful!) |
My own favourite memento will be the magic penny box, which is a work of true craftsmanship. Even when I do the trick badly people still can't work it out and wonder why the box is rattling when there is clearly no penny inside. But as I said at the end of my speech, amazingly managing not to cry for the duration: "The trick is that the penny is always there, on the inside - it's just hidden so you can't see it. And although Grandad is no longer here in person for us to see anymore, he will always be here, inside our hearts."
Oh and guess what the
first song was we sang at the funeral? Not that I could sing it for the lump in my throat...