Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away on Sunday 15 January 2012. However, I was honoured to have had the privilage to be able to write and read the eulogy at his funeral today, Thursday 26 January 2012.

Just as I shared my memories of my grandfather today in courage to a full church, I think it would be nice to be able to share my memories with my friends of the Internet.

(As a note, I had to be kept under 4 minutes.)

I’ve grown up as a grandchild of seven. In the sixteen years that have gone by, my grandparents have been the foundation of my childhood. My relationship with my grandparents, and particularly today my grandad, brings warmth to my heart and I’m here to tell you why.

My grandad was a man who liked to enjoy himself and aspired to live a long, happy life. He was also the sort of man who would turn a frown into a smile upon greeting him at the front door — it was so easily done.

As a child, I remember riding my small red and yellow tractor tricycle around the well at the top of the garden whilst my grandad stood and watched and reassured me of my safety. “Watch you don’t go too fast,” he’d say as I travelled around and around in circles. I also remember playing makeshift tennis or ’bat and ball’ as we’d both call it — me standing at the top of the garden and him at the bottom on a sunny summer’s day. When I was with my grandad, he made me feel comfortable and, most importantly, loved.

Reflecting on our memories, it’d be hard to forget the countless trips we would go on in the summer holidays. I was young, just 8 or 9. I would arrive at the house with Nan already in work and off we’d set on a visit to the Bay and a walk along the barrage. Grandad loved boats, trains and everything mechanical, which is what made the calm days of walking along the barrage with the expensive yachts passing in and out so special. I’d say, “That’s a big one!” and he’d smile and point to another.

It was unfortunate that my grandfather had to spend his last Christmas in hospital. However, it can’t go without mention that, on one evening visit to the hospital, grandad watched his favourite comedian, Jethro, on DVD via a portable DVD player. Nan, Ellie and I had never seen grandad laugh so intensely in the recent months before. He bent forward and clutched his stomach; an invariable attempt to cure his roaring laughter. If it made grandad happy, it made us even happier.

As I’m sure the family and Nan in particular will remember, grandad did like a pint of Guinness or two on a Friday or Sunday evening. We couldn’t help but laugh when he’d often mention to the doctor, “I don’t drink, but I do like my Guinness.” They were the moments that were just so purely grandad.

It goes without saying that my grandfather has taught me a lot. Some things are factual, like when we’d sit and watch wartime documentaries and he would elaborate on his own experiences. Other things are moral, like how my grandfather’s courage to fight has taught me to never give in.

In any sense, he’s now in the arms of his mother, father and his loving sister. He’s met them again after so long. What brings most comfort to my heart is that he’s pain-free. God is looking after grandad, and most of all, He’s watching over the family: ensuing we’re at ease.

From as long as I remember, I’ve always viewed death as a way of being told by God that we can no longer live in peace on Earth. Instead, we can live in peace in another destination; a place without distraction, discomfort or despair.

What’s most important for me is that those memories will never expire. The thoughts and pictures are comfortable reminders of the great times not only I shared with my grandfather, but also the rest of the family; they’re always going to be there.

The passing of our grandfather will leave a big hole in our lives. The memories however, will be cherished forever on.

Today’s been a rollercoaster. It probably can only be described as a day filled with waves of emotion; as if the seas is crashing against the sea wall for a second and almost spontaneously, it’s calm.

What happened today was the inevitable. If you’ve read either of my blogs over the past year, you’ll probably have an idea as to what I’m talking about. We told ourselves that we were expecting what was to happen today, and we thought we were prepared. In fact, we were far from it.

My grandfather succumbed to cancer of the lung this morning — he passed peacefully with the people who he loves and valued most at his bedside.

In any sense, he’s now in the arms of his mother, his father and his loving sister. He’s met them again after so long. What brings most comfort to my heart is that he’s pain-free. He’s being looked after, and most of all, he’s watching over the family; ensuring we’re okay.

“Death is a beautiful thing,” is what I keep telling myself. As Steve Jobs once said at his Stanford Commencement Speech, death is a destination we all share.

And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life.

I look at death as a way of being told that we can no longer live in peace on Earth. Instead, we can live in peace in another place; a place without distraction, discomfort or despair.

My grandad was an extremely loving man, but he wasn’t the most expressive of men. He didn’t want to pass today.

My grandad breifly opened his eyes before he passed away this morning. His eyes met with the eyes of his family: his loving wife of 49 years, two daughters, two sons and sister. Tears began to stream down his cheeks and he took his last, long and deep breaths. Just like that, he was gone.

One day, I’ll meet him again, when I’m too old to live peacefully on Earth. But until that day, Rest in Peace, grandad. 

Lost, but never forgotten.

This isn’t something that I’d usually write on a blog such as this, but I thought that I should write what’s personal to me on the odd occasion; something other than technology. 

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It’s probably hard to tell you exactly how I feel right now. It’s not hard because I can’t make up my mind; it’s hard because I don’t think there’s a word that exists in the English dictionary that can describe how I feel. My feelings are tangled somewhere between sad, happy and tired.

Back in the start of the autumn last year, I wrote on my previous blog (which you can read here) about how I felt when my grandfather discovered he was diagnosed with cancer of the lung. Ever since then, my 72 year old grandfather has woken every day and persevered countless sleepless nights due to the unfortunate uncomfort that happens to be the disease of cancer

I never thought for once in my life, my whole 16 years that I’d ever have to deal with the pain of an extremely close family member suffering. No, I’m not the one who is in pain — but let me just say; it almost feels like that the pain my grandad feels is reflected upon me, like I feel it with him. Further, not just me in any case, my whole family.

My grandad is the sort of man who likes to enjoy himself and aspired to live a happy life; very much like any normal human being. Life can be tough sometimes, and these past 8 months have proved to me that giving up cannot be considered an option. My grandad hasn’t given up; to this very hour, he’s fighting and he’ll continue to fight.

On Sunday, we saw in 2012. A New Year most often brings intended happiness and ‘a fresh start’ with ‘New Year’s Resolutions’. It was hard for us, as a family, to see a person who we love with such tremendous heart suffer in a hospital bed in an inaudible hospital wing over Christmas. It was also sad to see my grandad spend his, most probably last, New Year’s Eve in the same hospital bed. Still, his persona is one that will encourage him to be strong until his last breath; giving up isn’t an option.

This week, particularly today and yesterday have been excruciatingly difficult for our family. Having to be told that the person who I’ve looked up to for so long (from baby-height) has just one to two weeks left to live is a hard one. I’d kick the football at my grandad’s feet and run around the well in my grandparents’ garden. This has probably been the most difficult time I’ve ever faced as a human being on planet Earth. Still, for my grandfather and grandmother in particular, it’s considerably worse.

For what is my grandfather’s last wish to be brought home and live a normal end to a well-worked life may not been seen through. His last wish to be at home, united by the family and his dearly loving wife may not also be seen through. As a family, we feel resentful, almost relentless to fulfil my grandfather’s wishes. Not every time however it’s possible.

If there’s one thing 2012 has already taught me, just 5 days in, is this: believe in what you want to believe in, but most importantly, make your dreams become reality and to never, ever become tired and give up on your goals.

Seeing somebody you love so dearly slip away in front of your eyes with absolutely no method of being able to help that person is possibly the most dreadful, upsetting thing a human being can experience. Death however, also believed as a moral by my grandfather, is one of the beauties of life. “When your time is up, your time is up,” he often says.

Stay strong, grandad.

All my love, Ryan. x