My grandfather died at the weekend, and I’ve spent time trying to formulate some sort of statement about how I felt about him, but I can only conclude that I barely knew him.
We must have spent time with him as children, but I can only remember a red-faced stranger with a strong northern Irish accent. My grandmother died fifteen years ago, but my memories of her are far more detailed; she ate too many eggs and died of jaundice. The only thing I really know about grandad is that he took the decision to remarry very shortly after grandma’s death, hurting and alienating all five of his children.
It’s frightening to see my dad upset by the death of a man he was virtually estranged from for fifteen years. It’s always hard to know what’s going on in his head, because he doesn’t communicate his feelings; and that makes it very difficult to offer support at a time like this, but I want to. I don’t want to be the third generation who can’t hug members of her family.