I'm starting to feel like me again. I actually cooked a Chinese meal last night--yes, I chopped veggies--and I can feel my mood becoming lighter. I'm humbled by all the love and support I've received from family and friends. My cousin, Mystic Jane, did a rather wonderful reading for me over the internet. I saw her at the funeral and hadn't seen her for years. Funny how childhood memories bind.
February has always been my least favorite month (except for the birth of my baby girl) and I'll be happy to see March.
My grandad was my rock. His death made my insides shatter. I felt so ill on the flight home I didn't know if I was going to make it. And yet, when I got home it didn't feel so bad anymore because I was surrounded by my family and they all felt the same way. It's a strange comfort.
He had one daughter, four grandchildren, fourteen great-grandchildren and two (to date) great-great-grandchildren. He loved black and white films, books, Liverpool, painting, gardening, bingo, cream cakes and ladies. He celebrated over 50 years of marriage to my granny before she died a week after my own wedding in 1997. After that, he spent many wonderful vacations with me and my hubby, camping in Canada aged 75, trekking all over Scotland, visiting Iona when he was in his 80s which had always been a dream of his. He fought in WWII and finished up as a Battery Sgt. Major in the Royal Artillery (although you'd never have guessed it, he was such a kind and funny soul). He was there on D-Day, bombing the shit out of Caen, but he always insisted the other troops had it far worse.
What I'll remember most is sitting in his front room, drinking tea out of proper cups and saucers, waiting for the biscuit tin to appear. I am not alone in this memory and each of us who experienced that comforting ritual will take those memories to our own graves.
I miss him but I feel him all around me in the happy memories. I hope I live life half as well as he did :)