Day 77: ‘One of those days..’

I THINK today could be classed as ‘one of those days’. 

Not necessarily one of those days because everything went wrong. I didn’t for example wake up with hair like Kate Bush and a spot the size of Vesuvius on the end of my nose. I didn’t lose any business, break numerous nails, prang my car or accidentally tumble dry angora.

No today was ‘one of those days’ because it was a day that we knew was coming, wouldn’t be the easiest, but was incredibly important and needed a bit of super human strength. 

Today we said our final goodbye to Bri (my Grandad for those who missed last week’s blog) just over a week after he died with vascular dementia.

I said to a friend last week something I heard my dad repeat at the Wake this afternoon (clearly I have listened over the years): “There’s nothing more certain in life than death - it will come to us all at some point”. He’s right of course. 

It doesn’t make it any easier for those left behind, and it doesn’t make it right when someone dies before their time, or more tragically and unexpectedly. But one day there’ll be people gathering (we have to all hope) to say goodbye to all of us. 

That’s why, in the case of someone like my Grandad, a funeral doesn’t always have to be a terribly morbid affair, but a time to remember the man you’re sitting there to honour. To celebrate everything that made him who he was, to acknowledge his legacy and the people he’s left behind, and giggle about some of his best stories. 

Bri lived to the age of 75 and although in his latter years his enjoyment of life was a bit more limited due to the onset of dementia, he had a pretty cracking life to that point. 

One thing I was always so grateful for when his dementia started in 2009, was the fact that he had been forced to retire on ill-health grounds with his back a long time ago.

This may not sound that great a thing in itself. But in actual fact I think it was. 

It meant that although Bri lost a lot of himself and his freedom at the age of 71, he had been lucky enough by that age to have had many retired years enjoying life. He had the time to spend with my Gran, going away a number of times a year, playing a huge part in my sister and I growing up, and spending thousands of afternoons drinking coffee, eating cake and relaxing in some of the county’s finest garden centres. 

That’s more than most people could ever ask for, and more than most of us will get from retirement. 

He would never have asked for the hand he’s been dealt over the past few years, nobody would. But for me, he managed it with dignity, grace and more often than not, a smile. 

In light of me running out of my own words, I’ll leave you with those of Mary Frye:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.