So, it's been a year today since we lost Grandad Tom. As you know, I am the Queen of Remembering What Happened On This Day Last Year Or Ten Years Ago. We're going to have a little ceremony here, since I can't exactly be at the cemetery today. We're writing notes to Grandad and Millie (our cat who died the same week) and attaching them to helium-filled balloons. Then we'll let them go. Hadleigh is very worried that the balloons won't get to Heaven but go down in someone else's garden and then "they'll sue us" she said. Here's her note.
So, anyway, one year ago today, Grandad died. It sucked. I do remember that part. But it was also, I don't know how to put this, an experience that I don't ever want to forget either. My Grandad didn't want to be in that bed. So, unlike many deaths, we were ready for it, and we knew that when it came, it would stop the indignity that he was suffering.
He'd made peace with the fact that he was going to die. The news must have shocked him, but he seemed to take it in stride. Us, here in America, didn't take it in stride at all. We collectively freaked out. And that, that right there, was one of the hardest things about it. Aaron was gone to Rhode Island, and The Handleys are spit out all over America, and I just wanted someone to put their arms around me and tell me it would be okay. I actually wanted him, Grandad Tom, to tell me it was going to be okay. And he did.
Because from the minute he got the news, he said things like, "That's just the way life is, m'love" or "I've had a good life, Natty. No regrets."
I called him when I thought my heart was going to just literally burst in my chest. I babbled totally unselfconsciously to him. Don't die. Please, don't die. We need you. What can I do to help? Can I come home? Can I send you anything?
"Don't waste your money on me, m'duck" he said. "I'm alright. Just plodding on."
And then, when I was terrified that I would call one day and he wouldn't know who I was, I called him. I tried not to cry as I said things that, if they were the last things he heard from me, would be poignant.
"You and I are cool, right? We've no arguments to smooth over, we've no things left unsaid. We know that we love eachother, and I know I'm your favourite. Don't worry, I won't rub it in to the others too much. You've been the best Grandad that a girl could ever want. And I love you. And you've been so kind to Aaron, and been a Grandad to him too. And we love you so much. And I'll tell the kids all about you, and use your catchphrases, and make sure that our Tom grows up to be a man who you would be proud of. And thanks, Grandad, for raising my Dad, because you showed him what it means to be there, and he's a great dad to me, so thanks for that."
And I sniffled and sobbed and said, "You don't have to respond to any of it, Grandad, but I just want you to know that I love you, so much"
He was quiet for a minute. I wondered if he had heard me, or fallen asleep, or was confused about who I was. But then he said, "I love you too, Natty" and I felt peace.
Trust him to make things better. He used to write me letters. As a teenager, I'd write to Grandma and Grandad and tell them every detail of my life. I was in love. I was out of love. I was depressed. I was confused. Whatever I was feeling, I'd write it down and tell them. Letters came back all the time. Grandma would write a letter telling me all the family news. I would usually howl with laughter at these. I'm not kidding, this is an excerpt from one of hers.
Went to Blackpool last week. Barbara did a moony at some bricklayers out of the bus window. It's the first time I've ever seen a speechless brickie.
Anyway, then there'd be a letter from Grandad, who, according to Grandma, used to write her page after page of love letters when he was stationed in Palestine, and could write pages even about the weather.
I wrote to him and told him about my life. I was worried about my position on the school newspaper, The Prospective. I sent Grandad an article about Abstinence for Teens that I had written and that had received an award. He wrote back to me and concreted his position as Most Awesome Old Man Ever!
March 24th 1993
Hello Sweet Grandaughter,
Here comes the latest attempt at letter writing as promised on the phone. Must admit though, it's going to be a losing battle trying to phrase intelligent sentences to a budding journalist, but then I can always excuse myself for any errors by reminding you that I am, after all, just a senile geriatric.
Really pleased you are enjoying a spell of happiness, but please, please, have some sad moments, otherwise you'll deprive me of my greatest pleasure which is of course, hearing you do a Bette Davis when the world is treating you so unfairly. (Only kidding, Nat, you are much more melodramatic than Bette. More of a Meryl Streep).
How goes it with your platonic friend, Brad? Hope you haven't been so wicked as to kiss him goodnight. (Joke).
Don't forget, little one, the message is loud and clear, there is no safe sex, abstinence is the only sure way. (Now where did I steal that from, I wonder?)
Hope the Prospective doesn't sue me for copyright infringement.
Right, enough of the frivolous stuff, and on with some serious grandpa talk. Does Mrs Sorrows the advisor do the obituary column in the Prospective? Well, I chuckled when I wrote that sentence.
Really enjoyed your articles in the paper. Felt so proud of you. Haven't read such well thought out and straight from the shoulder writing, even in the Guardian or Sunday Times over here. If you don't make Editor then Mrs Sorrows ain't looking in the right direction.
O.K, no more praise in this letter. That's your lot, until I shout, "Encore, Encore" when I watch you as leading lady at "Murray's Theatre" in the play of the year.
Did you notice that I did as you asked and prayed for your Mum and look what happened....a new happy, healthy and uncomplaining lady returns from hospital and won't ground you even once for the rest of the year, (or is it this week?)
Hey! Where are those recent pictures you promised to send? Hope you'll be smiling, Nat. I do have to show them to other people.
Glad you're happy out there, Nat. If Clinton can get to the top then the sky is the limit for you also. Nice to know you love America. It's a great country, sometimes wish I'd been born there myself. I suppose it stems from being alongside them during WWII. Finest men I ever met in my life.
No, I'm not a traitor, Nat. England, even in the doldrums is still the greatest place in the world. Many tears have I shed when the White Cliffs of Dover loomed up before me.
Well, Cass, promised your Gran I wouldn't put anything like sentimental stuff in this letter, so I won't. It's 3 in the morning. I'm sat at the kitchen table, alone, except for the sound of the wind howling by over the Lancashire Moors, a strange ache in my heart and a warm glow of pride and pleasure when I think how lucky I've been to have lived long enough to see my three wonderful granddaughters grow into fine young ladies. Plus, the added bonus of course that they've got a super dad and a great Mum. (She ain't heavy, she's my daughter, your Mum, I mean)
Love to write more, my sad one, but have to break off and write to your Mum and Dad. My apologies for the lack of news and gossip, but nothing much taking place at the moment.
Love you. God Bless. Take Care Always.
Your Loving Grandpa.
So, at least I have his letters, and his photos. I've got a flat cap that belonged to him. And one of his favourite pens. And tapes that he made for me. I think of him every day, just like I told him I would. Sometimes it's with sadness, because, shit, I really miss him. But most of the thoughts are happy ones. He was my favourite old Coffin Dodger, although, as Grandma wryly pointed out, he didn't end up being very good at Coffin Dodging.
My cousin Jody and I, between us, decided that I would write Grandad's eulogy and she would read it out. So, that's what happened. Here it is:
I've agonized about what to say about Grandad Tom today. As Grandma says, he didn't like to be ignored, but he didn't like a lot of fuss either, so I'll keep it short and sweet and just offer some random thoughts. They may not even make sense to any of you, but they're from my heart.
Grandad Tom was a real man. You don't see men like that anymore.....honest, brave, hardworking. He was all those things. But I think the thing I loved the most about Grandad was the way he loved his family. Sometimes the love was disguised as a fussy old man with an aversion to crumbs and chaos, but we knew that he loved us. He showed us just how much by grinning ear to ear when he saw us and then asking us if we were sure our bus wasn't due yet.
So many of Grandad's quirks were a source of amusement to us. We laughed and rolled our eyes when he lined up objects on a table and called it tidying up. We wondered what sort of awful germs he was afraid of passing to us, because he insisted on kissing us only on the forehead. We smiled when he grumbled about crumbs from biscuits because we knew that it was just who he was. He could never change, and we didn't want him to.
He was a master at pretending that he was irritated by Grandma (and I'm sure on some level, he was), but anybody with half a brain knew that he was totally and utterly in love with her. They had sixty extraordinary years together and raised their children with a mixture of humour, discipline and love. Always love.
Even when his family was scattered around the world, Grandad did what he could to stay in close contact, and always visited, wherever we were. He wrote some letters to me that broke my heart and made me laugh all at the same time. Those letters mean more to me than anything.
He was always unfailingly proud of all his children and Grandchildren, even when we were less than perfect. I always knew that if I needed an ego boost, I should phone Grandad-he always made me feel important.
Over the past few days, I've joked with people about how I was Grandad's favourite. In fact, that was one thing about him: he made all of us feel that he loved us best.
There is nothing I can say here today that can express how much we all loved our Grandad Tom, because we all loved him differently. To me, he was a Grandad and a friend.
When I was little, I never dreamed that I would grow up to idolize this grumpy old man. I never dreamed that we would sit around and smoke together in three different countries while we talked about anything and everything.
When I named my son Tom, I didn't know that saying his name would bring a pain now that Grandad is gone.
But if I really think about it, he isn't really gone. Every time I smell pipe tobacco, he'll be there. Every time I hear a military march, he'll be there. And when I close my eyes and picture him in his flat cap, grinning that crooked grin, he'll be there.
I know we'll see him again.
His blood is running through our veins, so that means we'll be okay. We'll make it in this world.
We're made of the right stuff.
Miss you Grandad.
