My mum has written the definitive post about my grandfather. I still can't really be upset that he's dead, because both he and I were aware of the impossibility of the concept. My grandfather was immortal.
He projected an air of immortality wherever he went - from his "I'm king of the world" pose in photographs, to his undisguised contempt for "old codgers", most of whom were a decade or so younger than him.
I remember thinking Hagrid ludicrously naive when he gently suggested that my grandfather might not, actually, live to be a hundred.
In conclusion, it's equally ludicrous now that everyone's saying he's "dead". I saw his body, of course, to check - but they'd shaved off his beard just before I last saw him alive, so it looked nothing like him (he hated his face without hair, I have no idea why he consented to the procedure).
Now I'm thinking about it, this might be considered the "denial" stage of grief. Er... NO IT ISN'T.
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2 comments:
I'm with you on that river in Egypt. He didn't consent to have his beard shaved off - they took off most of it for the oxygen mask and then I think they shaved him properly after he died because they didn't know that he was a MAN WITH A BEARD.
But far better, I think, to have a father/grandfather who considered himself immortal at 85, than one who'd had enough of life.
Sorry to hear about your grandad, Ollie. I actually read about it on your mum's blog (she writes very engagingly so although it may be a little creepy to read the blog of a mother of a friend, I can't help it) and popped over here to offer my condolences. Any time you need to talk, I'm fairly good at listening.
-- Kate Walker
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