I don't often blog about my family. Nothing is untoward about them, we're a normal happy family. I just respect their privacy. If they wanted their affairs posted on here they would be bloggers themselves. This time though, I'm blogging about my memories of my Granddad. We lost him a number of years back, about a year after my Gran died. When he died, he was a shell of a man. Barely able to speak, bedridden, and unable to remember who we were for much of the time. This is a painful memory of a man I love very much, but serves a very important purpose for me. It reminds me that he was not always this way. This leads me back to the memories I hold, right from being a young nipper, exploring his garage where he crafted woodwork (to this day I'm not sure what he ever crafted, but he certainly enjoyed being in there). Him teaching me tool use safely, and teaching me to carve, cut and sand wood. Games of chess, a game he taught me both to play and love. Games of cards, he instilled an amazing passion in me for these games of skill and chance. To this day, I love cards, and am generally unbeatable in any card game that is more than luck. The man was an ace cardsharp. His Triumph car, which had a distinctive smell inside, a smell that will forever be associated with this great man.
The strangest thing is that he wasn't a great man, or a particularly strong man, he was just my Granddad. And I love him dearly. I never cried when he died, for me he was simply released. I also think on the day of his funeral, I kept a part of him with me, which allowed me to show the quiet strength and love for my family when they could not be strong. To this day, I still feel the ability to be quietly strong when all is wrong to be a great asset for me.
I hope that if any of you read this and have a similar experience that I have had, you would be able to not let positive memories be soured by the negative, but allow them to be srengthened instead.
Much love to you all, thanks for listening
x