I want to write something meaningful today. Yesterday my grandfather passed away. He was 94, born just after the end of the first world war. This fact alone bewilders me: all of the things he must have seen, known, experienced and struggled with. He had two sons, two daughters, each of whom had a mixture of seven sons and six daughters, who also produced children, and one great-great-grandchild. My father's middle name is taken from the name of the grandfather, and my brother, although not directly, is also named after my grandfather. He was married for 71 years. Yesterday, moments before his death, any passing stranger may have just called him an old age pensioner: he was very hard of hearing, his bladder was failing, his liver wasn't working properly, and therefore caused his kidneys and bladder even more problems. His anti-biotics were making him worse instead of better, but the doctors prolonged his life for at least three weeks by feeding him their medicines. Eventually his heart stopped, and in a way, our family felt a relief: no longer would he suffer, no longer would his body be tormented by a crippling and unavoidable fate. The true sadness lies in the eyes of my grandmother: wife of 71 years, now a widow. Alone for the first time since she was a teenager. She tried to take all her sleeping pills at once, but her eldest daughter stopped her. Now, she has four generations of children, of family and loved ones to look after her, but still, things always change, and given a chance, she might try to take her life again. I can't help but reflect on the amazing lives of my grandparents: some say that when people have children young, they throw away their whole lives. Next week, and my grandfather's funeral, I will look around and see a large family gathered together to mourn and say their farewells to a beloved man. I will see a host of successful people: a pilot, a banker, a lawyer and a training doctor. An entrepreneur, an oil-dealer, and all their beautiful and talented children who might one day become a dancer, an extreme-sportsman, a football player, a beautician, and a billion other possible futures. My family, as dysfunctional, troubled and strange as it is, is still my family. I can't change that, and today, I wouldn't want a single person in our family to change.
We are all the diluted product of a farmer and his wife. I have never been especially close to my grandparents, but I still respect them, and am so happy that my last memory is of them both sat side-by-side, smiling serenely.
To Jimmy Earl. Let his memories live forever, and let his body rest in peace.