My Grandfather

Fathers Day. I've never really been a fan. While growing up, it was always a case of "Get your Dad a card" and "Get your Stepdad a card" and then there was the issue of where we'd be for the day with custody and so on and so forth. Becoming a dad was great, getting handmade cards, scribbles in store-bought cards, gifts to make me smile. Right up until we lost Bethy. The first Fathers Day (and indeed mothers day) we awful, the cards very obviously missing a name. It was no different this weekend. I was just waiting for something to happen.

So, I called my Dad at 11am to have a chat, thank him for being my Dad, wish him a happy fathers day, and off we toddled for the day, out having fun and keeping occupied. Got in at 7pm, Gemma phone three minutes later - Grandad has died - my dads dad.

He's been in hospital for almost 12 weeks, very poorly, and finally, because he's been on his back for so long, a chest infection was too much. He'd had a leg removed and was due to have the other taken this week, complications from Diabetes. Not that he helped himself of course - he's snaffle sweets and chocolate, drink sweet tea, and pretty much do what he wanted. When he "quit" smoking, we'd be in the living room, he'd go to the loo and you could SO blatently smell the smoke from the toilet. "Are you smoking in there?" we'd shout. "No, don't be silly...."

However, I feel like a complete bastard. I've not seen or spoken to my grandparents in a very long time. I am shite at keeping in touch with people - always have been. Can't explain how or why, but there it is. On the one hand, I remember Grandad as this large chap in his armchair, fishtank to one side, eating and drinking what he liked - but on the other, I miss him. And I KNOW it's my fault for not picking up the phone or jumping on the bus.

And the knock-on effect of this is the relationship between me and my dad. We speak every couple of weeks, see each other less. I'll phone, we chat, I get off the phone and think "I'll call in a few days" and suddenly, it's two weeks later. And this is with reminders, post-it notes and what have you. Me and Dad got closer when Bethy passed away. I think the mortality of things hit home on the both of us, and Dad never saw Bethany huge amounts. Before that, we would speak once a month if we were lucky.

I'd like to say "It'll be different from now - I'll call him a couple of times a week" but I hate making promises to myself as in ten days time I will think to myself "Buggerit!" after not having picked up the phone.

Sorry for rambling - I've not been spreading this around as for one, I don't like to bring people down. I know, I know...

And, of course, three guesses where the service is going to be held... We've been told if it's too much that we're not under any pressure to go, but how can I not? Who knows - maybe it'll be less difficult to go see Bethy's garden this time around.