You should be at the table on Christmas day. Your gentle light blue eyes should be studying everyone present behind your bifocal lenses as you wink at anyone who catches your eye. Your deep but soothing voice should be echoing across all corners of the room as you tell some of the many stories of your childhood, capturing the imagination of everyone who is listening, even if they have heard them before.
You should be there this year.
You should have been there last year.
And the year before that.
But just like last Christmas and the Christmas before, you’re not going to be there, because you’re not here anymore. The fifteenth will be two years. Two whole years.
It still seems so surreal sometimes, as if you’ve just gone on a really long trip overseas with no way of contacting home, or as if we’re playing a really good game of hide-and-seek and I still haven’t found you yet. It seems as if I am waiting for you to come out of your hiding place, or to return from wherever you’ve traveled to, so that I can see all the pictures you took, marvel at all the items you’ve collected, and hear all the stories you have to tell about your experiences. As you always said, new experiences make for new stories.
I know that no matter how vivid this scenario seems in my mind, it is nothing more than a fantasy. You will never simply just come out of hiding to end the game, nor will you return home from your travels. You’re gone forever. Dead. But I don’t understand how this can be when in my heart and mind, you’re still so alive.
I miss you, granddad. Mum and dad and the other boys all miss you. But unlike them, I don’t want to just forget you. I can’t just forget you. I want to remember you and everything you did in great detail. I want to remember every word of every song you used to sing to me and how you used to sing them. I want to remember every beginning, middle and ending of every story you used to tell me and how you used to tell them. I want to remember what your laugh sounded like, every unique phrase you used, and every little quirk you possessed.
I try to remember with a smile because I know that’s how you would want me to remember you, but it’s so hard when I miss you so much. I try not to be angry with myself when I forget things about you, but it’s so hard when I want to remember everything so badly. I try to tell myself that you are still around in some way, watching over me proudly, keeping me safe and guiding me in my life, but it’s so hard when all I want is to see your face or to hear your voice or to give you a hug, just one last time.
It’s hard, but I do it. I do it for myself, for mum, dad and the boys, for grandma, but mostly I do it for you. I hope you appreciate that.
Thanks for being such an incredible grandfather. You were a man of such character, strength and love and gone or not, I aspire to be like you every day.
Merry Christmas, granddad. I miss and love you more than anyone could ever know.
