SO. It’s like, a few days to go. And I still can’t get myself ramped up about it. Everyone keeps asking me “oooooo are you excited? You must be so excited!” and it’s starting to sound more like a demand than a conversational rhetorical question.
Truth is, I’m not excited. I’m not entirely sure what it is I’m meant to be excited about. Seeing my Gramps again? Maybe. Would you be excited to see someone who, last time you saw them (only 4 years ago), was climbing trees better than yourself but can now barely climb stairs? Would you be thrilled to see someone who once had intelligence far beyond your own knowledge of anything but can now not be entirely sure what day it is?
In a conversation with my mom the other day, we both blatantly admitted that quite frankly, this will probably be the last time some of us will see him.
Now, this thought doesn’t make me sad, it pisses me off. It makes me cross, it makes me fucking angry. I know he’s served his time and then some during his life. He’s nearly 90, and has pretty much travelled the world as far as I know. He has decades of stories and tales which I would love to spend the time sitting and listening to them one day. He has a grandson-in-law who wants to do the same, learn from him, listen to him. He has great grandchildren who talk about him, and want to know more about him. Want to meet him.
None of that will happen.
Am I being selfish? Probably. It’s all about what I want for my boys, what I want for them to be able to get from Gramps. But only because he had so much to offer. Has so much to offer.
Geeze. It’s like I’ve killed him off already. Maybe I’m finding it easier that way?
The last time I went to Jamaica to spend “precious time” with a grandparent, my Granny, I’m pretty sure she had no idea who I was. My lasting memory of her is her lying in a bedroom with very little light; very much paralysed from the shoulders down as a result of the stroke she had had just months before. She couldn’t speak. She could only blink at me. Sometimes she would try to smile; it scared the life out of me. I was only 7 or 8. She was one of the liveliest people I knew, just like Gramps. I admired them both for the amount of energy she had; she never seemed to stop. What happened?
She stopped.
I can accept death. I’m obviously accepting of that fact that we all die. But I don’t want to see it. And it feels like that’s just what I’m going to do when I go to Jamaica again. Watch another person I treasure, disappear a little more.
I’m taking my camera gear. I have ordered a sim card to arrive at the hotel loaded with data availability. Skype, for Gramps and my boys, is now a possibility. Hell, I’m even pimping myself out to do some possible wedding photography while I’m over there if anyone wants it. Grab an opportunity, right?
Jamaica is a wonderful place but I have so many memories of being there, both amazingly wonderful and hideously dark. If I’m going to go back (and yeah…I’m still saying “if”…) I need to make it work. It’s my Gramps. It’s Jamaica.
It’s got to be good. Or else.
This has brought back so many memories of my Grandparents, I actually wish I hadn't seen my Nana in hospital post stroke, as when I try to imagine her this is what I see. I don't want to remember her that way. However, I like to think she heard us all remind her how much she was loved, they say hearing is the last thing to go.
I hope you have a lovely trip, I hope talking to your Grandfather is a positive experience and that he is aware of a life well lived.
I always remember my Grandfather saying that without him there wouldn't be us and that thought made him feel happy and proud x
I very often think about how my children would have benefited from my Dad still being alive. Truth be told, he of all 4 grandparents, would have treasured them most, cared most, given most, and was the biggest character. So yes, it is unfair that they will never really know him – and I am gutted that I never really appreciated him before now. At least you do appreciate your gramps and have engaged fully with him. I do keep my Dad alive for my kids though, and when they talk about him they paint a really good picture of what he was really like, without prompting. They know what they meant to him, because we talk about it a lot. You can do that for your kids too, because even if he is not as he was, he is still in there and you still get to see that sometimes. I hope it is a good visit.
Can't imagine why I haven't subscribed before now – sorted
Ahw thank you A.M, that's a really lovely comment
I agree, I suspect (much like Granny) he will continue to live on anyway. It's the weirdest thing preparing for it, but I hope The Smalls see (through my eyes) the awesome man I remember. 
I do hope you enjoy it when you're there
And capture the moments with your third eye – your camera. A photograph usually tells us more than we thought we sought to know. Be safe on your travels. HMSx