Thicker than Water (Part one)

You ever do that thing where you plan out a post that really strikes you as important or noteworthy when it comes to you which then never quite makes it out onto the page?

I've had one lately - I wanted to write something semi-serious about the importance of duty and how I was a bit rubbish when it comes to doing the Right Thing on a day to day basis; not the big stuff like "trying to be a nice person" or "Not mugging little old ladies" - that I attempt fairly constantly, but the little thoughtful things that make people realise you appreciate them.  Like doing something nice for someone like getting them a little something when you know they're a bit down, or making an effort to spend time with family.

The post that I wanted to write was going to centre around family and how amazing families (mine in particular) can be.  What follows is likely to be much less focused than if I had written it at the time but lets see if this thing takes shape.

The tail end of the bank holiday weekend saw a flurry of phone calls between my parents and I.  My dad's dad had been not that well for a long time and had taken a turn for the worse.  He went into hospital on the Saturday, worsened again on the Sunday and on Bank Holiday Monday I got the call.  Grandad was in a bad way.  I had better come home as it wasn't looking good.  Mum would come and collect me from London so that I could say goodbye.  They didn't expect him to make it through the night.

My dad's family is a complicated one.  He is the only boy amongst five sisters.  One of the sisters tragically died a few years ago following an epileptic fit so he has four left.  They grew up in a notorious council estate with his mum and dad, or as I knew them - Nanny and Grandad.

Maybe it's the fact that they grew up in such close proximity or maybe it's just the case when you get enough girls together they tend to fall out but the sisters are a combative bunch.  I don;t think I can recall a single time in my living memory when they've all got along - there's always one who isn't speaking to someone.  My dad sometimes tries to play the mediator but most of the time tries not to get involved.

In addition, his dad has always been a strong minded character.  When my dad was around sixteen, Nanny and Grandad converted to being Jehovah's Witnesses, and three youngest sisters, still living at home at the time and young enough to be told by their parents that this was the way to go, also converted.  The three older siblings chose not to, but this was not an easy time.  My dad got a good long dose of the silent treatment from my Grandad (around 18 months I think), because he wouldn't convert too.  Then there was the later palava about my dad marrying a Catholic (my mum, you donut) and the questions over whether his parents would be attending their wedding at all - they did in the end.  The story goes that they sat at the back of the church for the service and during the reception my Nanny insisted on washing up everything in sight.

Despite the ups and downs over the years, ever since I've known enough to know what's going on (ish) my dad and his parents have seemed to get on pretty well.  My Nanny passed away when I was in my teens but Grandad kept going strong - going out and knocking on doors for the Fellowship, telling people the Good News.  He'd come along to family dinners and sit there happily chomping away at anything my dad had cooked, quietly taking everything in and chuckling frequently.  He might have talked a bit more if my other Grandad, mum's dad, didn't have quite so much to say and a tendency to always say it loudly.

Over the last few months dad's dad, or Grandad F as he's also known,  had not been very well at all, and had moved in with one of the younger daughters who was acting as his carer, who also happened to be the only one of the sisters still involved with the Jehovah's Witnesses (JWs) .  He had looked to be getting better, health wise, but had started to get more confused when he took this turn for the worse.

I turned up at the hospital having been caught up with some of what had been going on.  Dad's eldest sister, who lives in Scotland, had travelled down with her husband and the JW sister were both at his bedside when I made my way through the curtain.  I had been warned about Grandad's appearance and expected the worst when I saw him, but he actually looked pretty peaceful - sleeping with his mouth open as I took up the chair next to him and held his hot, dry hand.  The thing that made my throat catch was the fact that the top half of his face - forehead, eyebrows, cheekbones and nose - looked so SO much like my dad.  I had a horrible little premonition of the mortality of one of my parents for a second or two, and it left me reeling.

Write more later - just finishing work...