| |
|
My sympathies, mate. I got a phone call exactly a month ago today telling me that my Grandad had died. He was 88, closed artery. The neighbours called my Mam cos his telly had been on all night and they thought something might be wrong. I went up for the funeral a couple of weeks ago. It brought out a strange set of emotions. I was very close to both of my maternal grandparents, who just lived around the corner from my parents house. They played a big role in bringing me up, and now both of them are gone.
My Gran died in 98, which was devastating as I'd never experienced someone close to me die before. I'd been kind of preparing myself for the eventuality of my Grandad passing away for a few years now, but I wasnt expecting it to happen so suddenly. I saw him in July and he was in good health. If he was still alive, it would have been his 88th birthday tomorrow. Because I live so far away, it's difficult to get my head around the fact that he's not still pottering about his house in North Shields.
I'd actually been planning to phone him for several weeks before he died. I had a strong sense that I should call him, but kept putting it off and now it's too late. My Mam said she felt the same way, that she should have gone round there more often and kept in touch more regularly. I told her that the last thing he would have wanted was for us to feel guilty over stuff like that, but it doesnt stop those feelings from rising up. I mean, I even feel guilty about not listening to John Peel as often as I should have.
It's weird, because, like other people have said upthread, I didn't get the immediate emotional punch because I think at some level I'd been preparing myself for this happening. The grief finds funny ways to express itself. My main feeling was that, in some sense, he's now with my Gran again, which is where he belongs. It always seemed that a part of him was missing after she died. So I found it difficult to feel sad about that, because in a strange way, it felt right. As if they were both happy.
I also found that the ancestor work aspect of the magic stuff that I do was really useful for providing a context for dealing with the idea of death. Because speaking to the ancestors is such a big part of my practice, it doesn't feel so much like I've lost their support. They are still there for me. There's already photos of them both on my altar, and I can still speak to them, share food with them, tell them what's going on in my life, and ask their advice. Which is important because I thought the actual funeral service really fell short of addressing any of what I was feeling.
When I was up in Newcastle last Christmas, I went for a beer with my Grandad on boxing day. Just me and him. I'm really happy that I got a chance to do that, as it's how I'll always remember him. We both got pissed, and he told me loads of family history stuff I'd never heard before, and due to several pints of lager, unfortunately now can't fully remember. He also told me that he wanted me to inherit his wristwatch that he bought when he came back from fighting in Burma during WW2. After the funeral I went for a walk to the old house where they used to live when I was growing up, stood outside and put my Grandad's watch on my wrist, then went and had a look through the window of the newsagents in the village that he used to run during the 60s, then went to the bar across the road where my Gran used to work as a barmaid, drank a double whisky for them, and remembered them in my own way. For me, this was a part of the funeral service, and meant more to me than the vicar running through his formulaic ritual.
Putting on his watch, I was overwhelmed by the sense that I'm now occupying a new generational slot in my family. It felt almost as if a new aspect of adulthood has opened up, with its own responsibilities and requirements. I'm not really sure what that means, but I feel as if something has subtly changed in how I think about my relationships with my family, and about my life in general. His watch is an old wind up thing, and when I hold it near my head, or if I'm in a quiet room, I can hear it ticking. It reminds me how important it is to make the most of, and the best of, the time that I have myself. |
|
|
