It Took Two Pillows To Make That Jelly BellyTuesday just gone would have marked Crash Grandadicoot's birthday. He was fond of his birthdays as he was fond of Christmas - not for the presents (as he insisted that he already had everything that a man could ever want) but because it gave him an excuse to gather his family around him. I don't know why he felt he needed an excuse as not a weekend goes by where the small 2-up 2-down house isn't swamped by about a gazillion of us, but far be it from me to point this out. Maybe it was the excuse to dress up that he was really after. His Santy rig-out every Christmas was quite the thing, and he was a great man for modelling whatever winterwear he was gifted for his July birthdays.
I spent Monday evening in my Nana's along with my brother and sister, eating her out of house and home. We spent time catching her up on all our gossip and while I knew his birthday was coming up the following day, I didn't mention it. There was plenty of mention of him, as there always is, but not of his birthday. I knew that my uncle was coming over the following evening to bring her down to the Mount Jerome, where his ashes have been interred. She never thought she'd be the graveside type, turns out she is, at least on what would have been his birthday.
I thought about her on Tuesday. I thought about her all day. Wondered if I should call and if I did, what I might say to her. It's not like me - I'm never stuck for words with my nana. I thought I might text her instead, it's how I usually avoid potentially emotional or awkward situations; you can seem proactive and at the same time shunt the ball into the other person's court. And then turn your phone off. But I didn't text her. She only ever gets the first two lines anyway because she keep accidentally deleting the messages when she tries to scroll, but she's 76 (I think) so we'll let her off. What would I have said? Happy really fucking sad birthday? Thinking of you? She knows I'm thinking of her. And him.
I got a text from my mam that night, not because she was avoiding a potentially emotional or awkward situation but because she's in France. She was texting to tell me that she'd sat chatting to Grandad in a church that overlooked the local grandads at their boules (he played twice a week). She lit a candle and had a cry, but decided not to sing him happy birthday. I read the text and felt ... nothing. Swiftly followed by a sickening guilt at the realisation that I do not miss him as much as I should. And I carried on with my evening, read my book, went to bed.
This morning I am sitting at my desk in work, avoiding translation work and hiding behind my computer because I'm leaking tears as I write. I miss him much more than I had imagined.
I spent Monday evening in my Nana's along with my brother and sister, eating her out of house and home. We spent time catching her up on all our gossip and while I knew his birthday was coming up the following day, I didn't mention it. There was plenty of mention of him, as there always is, but not of his birthday. I knew that my uncle was coming over the following evening to bring her down to the Mount Jerome, where his ashes have been interred. She never thought she'd be the graveside type, turns out she is, at least on what would have been his birthday.
I thought about her on Tuesday. I thought about her all day. Wondered if I should call and if I did, what I might say to her. It's not like me - I'm never stuck for words with my nana. I thought I might text her instead, it's how I usually avoid potentially emotional or awkward situations; you can seem proactive and at the same time shunt the ball into the other person's court. And then turn your phone off. But I didn't text her. She only ever gets the first two lines anyway because she keep accidentally deleting the messages when she tries to scroll, but she's 76 (I think) so we'll let her off. What would I have said? Happy really fucking sad birthday? Thinking of you? She knows I'm thinking of her. And him.
I got a text from my mam that night, not because she was avoiding a potentially emotional or awkward situation but because she's in France. She was texting to tell me that she'd sat chatting to Grandad in a church that overlooked the local grandads at their boules (he played twice a week). She lit a candle and had a cry, but decided not to sing him happy birthday. I read the text and felt ... nothing. Swiftly followed by a sickening guilt at the realisation that I do not miss him as much as I should. And I carried on with my evening, read my book, went to bed.
This morning I am sitting at my desk in work, avoiding translation work and hiding behind my computer because I'm leaking tears as I write. I miss him much more than I had imagined.
11 comments:
Hey. All the different things you're feeling are ok. It's always difficult to know how to feel when a loved on passes away but actually, everyone grieves in different ways. My grandfather died a number of years ago and when I think about him, I feel guilty that I don't think about him more often - that I don't seem to miss him. The truth is, I do, but I get on with what I'm doing because I know that's what he would have wanted me to do.
However you deal with Crash Grandadicoot's death is ok. He knows that you still love him. Your grandmother knows the same.
Sometimes the thinking can get in the way of the feeling. And we can have all manner of discomfort with family as teens and young adults. But maybe that's me projecting, and my grandfathers predeceased their wives by six and four decades so I never knew them. Sounds like you had one of the good guys - a bit of aul' decency, as they used to say.
There's a huge disconnection between me and my grandparents, 3 of them are gone and the last one turned 82 last week.
So all I ever feel when reading things like this is jealousy.
generally when someone dies my way of grieving is overworking, I'm not sure if that's grief or just a distraction though.
and what nuttycow said.
Of course you miss him! And it doesn't have to be his birthday for you to miss him all the more!
This very morning I joined some lady colleagues for teabreak who were talking about knitting baby clothes and I actually had to get up and leave because of the memories of my recently passed granny on her sewing and knitting machines nearly sent me into meltdown. And yet, at her funeral and month mind's services, I was fine as anything.
You're not alone
A lovely post. Can't offer anything but a "hope you feel better soon" Rosie. Grief is so personal that anything other than a hug just fails in comparison. ((Hug))
Grief's a sneaky fucker. It never shows up when it's "supposed" to. And it never has a clean tissue either.
Oh, that's such a sad post. I'm so sorry.
The tears arrive at the strangest times Rosie, I know all about it - I think about my dad at the least expected times and the waterworks are on before I know what's happened. Hug X
Ah Rosie, I'm sorry. It sounds like Crash Grandadicoot must have known how much he was loved, and there's great comfort to be had in that.
I reckon grief is always there in the background but some days it leaps up and bites us again and the wound opens again like it had never been closed.
Go through it, don't fight or question it. You'll be back to better soon, toots.
There's no right or wrong way to feel. You have your way and today it all welled up - your post was very touching and my heart goes out to you. All the best
i headed over to Nana's after work for some lamb chops and unconditional love. no better balm for a grumpy Rosie.
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