Saying Goodbye

As hard as it is, we all know that one day death will come knocking. We know that as our beloved grandparents get older and weaker, their day will come. But, for me at least, we don't expect it to happen to us. I know I am incredibly lucky to have known and loved all four of my grandparents into my twenties, and it is with enormous sadness that we have very recently had to say our last goodbyes to my dear Grandad Ted.

Grandad Ted in the early 1930s, aged around 4

Grandad passed away two weeks ago on November 25th 2015, and we had his funeral yesterday, on December 8th. One day last April he suddenly went from being a fairly active and able 87 year old to a weak and frail hospital patient and we were told to prepare for the worst. He stayed in hospital for six weeks, then was well enough to move to a nursing home. In August he moved again into a care home and he seemed to be getting better every time we went to see him. He was getting stronger, he laughed like he used to and we were talking about taking him home to spend Christmas with us, but then all of a sudden he was admitted to hospital again after suffering from stoke symptoms, and sadly but peacefully passed away a week later.

In a way I think we were lucky. Because it was over the course of several months, we gradually got used to the idea of him not being around. We were so fortunate to have the last few months with him still and right up to the last day I visited him in the care home he seemed so well and full of life. That doesn't make it any easier though. We all miss him so very much.

My Grandad belonged outside. He lived in the same tiny village in the Dorset countryside for his entire life and spent 40 years working on the farm, dedicated to his own beautiful garden in his free time. I know he would agree with me if I said he wasn't the most well educated man, but he had so much knowledge; I don't know where he got it from. "I'll ask Grandad Ted," I used to say when we pondered over some fact or other, "he'd know." He was a very funny man without meaning to be and he and I would always laugh together. He was kind, generous and cared for us so much.

Granny and Grandad's wedding, May 1959

Until yesterday, I had never been to a funeral before. I wasn't sure what to expect but I thought I would be okay. Of course the days leading up to and following Grandad's death had been incredibly upsetting and emotional but I coped better than I thought I would. Things just seemed to go on. I wasn't too worried about the funeral and I felt fine all the way there, but when I got out of the car and saw my Granny standing outside I completely fell apart. It was incredibly overwhelming and the thing that got me the most was the amount of people that had come to say goodbye- so many more than we'd expected. To me, Grandad was just Grandad and so it was easy to forget that he had so many different identities and had known 67 years' worth of people before I was even born. He wasn't just a grandfather, father and husband as I had known him to be, but a brother, an uncle, a neighbour, a colleague and a friend. He meant so much to so many people and I don't think he realised. The things people said about him and have written about him in the last couple of weeks show just how much he was loved.

I was meant to read a poem at the service yesterday but I couldn't bring myself to do it when we got there. The vicar read the words instead on my behalf but I just wanted to use this opportunity to share them again. I found this poem when I was searching online and it jumped out at me from amongst all the cliche filled stuff you find. I cannot track down who wrote it, but I'd like to thank them because the words were so comforting to me and so perfectly describe the way I'd like people to remember my Grandad Ted. So, in the words of Matthew from Richard Curtis' wonderful Four Weddings and a Funeral, "perhaps you will forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger":

Feel no guilt in laughter, he'd know how much you care. 

Feel no sorrow in a smile that he is not here to share.

You cannot grieve forever; he would not want you to. 

He'd hope that you could carry on the way you always do. 

So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared, 

The days you spent together, all the happiness you shared. 

Let memories surround you, a word someone may say

Will suddenly recapture a time, an hour, a day, 

That brings him back so clearly, as though he were still here, 

And fills you with the feeling that he is always near. 

For if you keep those moments, you will never be apart

And he will live forever, locked safely in your heart.

Edward Frank Shearing 
28.07.1927 - 25.11.2015

Grandad and me, probably 1995/1996