Dear Grandad

My Grandad passed away from lung cancer approximately 6 years ago. My story - Grandad's story- you are about to witness

Dear Grandad,

            A memoir is a recollection of an event in one’s life. A small event. A big event. A sad event. A happy event. I don’t think it really matters. Many people say when writing a memoir, write what comes to your mind. Miss Serico says to ‘relive it; put some emotive language into it. Make it real’. Writing to relive a moment and putting happy/sad words to paper is different from writing from the heart. Grandad, I know you always called me a “disaster waiting to happen,” or complain cheerfully, “not those two brats again!” and I wish you could have grown to see me as I am now. Who we are now. I am still a “disaster waiting to happen” … even more so now than ever! Yesterday I bogged my bike and crashed it into Katie’s motorbike so now I have a very painful constant reminder. I have sore ligaments in my wrist. A whopper bruise on my thigh and my ankle has swollen a bit. You would laugh now.  The thought of your laugh brings a smile to my face even now.

We used to laugh a lot. Over simple things like your favourite way of saying “I have had eloquence of sufficiency” and when I tried resaying it, it would come out like, “I have elephants of the fishy sea”. I have begun to realise that to ‘relive’ a situation I can’t just write a recount like mum taught us in grade 3 - ‘on Saturday, Mummy, Daddy, Katie and me I went to the rodeo’ �" I must let my fingers do the typing. Let this keyboard become my thoughts. So now my story �" your story �" can be retold. Right now Grandad, I am writing to you. For you. With you.  I want your memory to burn into my heart.

A superhero in comic strips, in fairy tales or whatever the fantasy doesn’t have a name. Some are called Prince Charming, Phantom or Batman. Kids use the names to picture the character. Prince Charming is witty, full of charm (obviously), ready to be a hero at any given time. Phantom is a suspicious character who is just that - a phantom. Batman is a dark hero. I believe they give no name to give the viewer a chance to place someone in their place. All the Disney, DreamWorks or comic heroes are stereotypes. Grandad, what is a hero classified as? You would answer with that stream of ever flowing, waterfall, running stream of wisdom… or answers.  Answers don’t always have to be wise �" well not from you they weren’t always. To me a hero is a role model. Someone who a character looks up to.  That character  lives in my heart. Sure, I may meet my Prince Charming one day and I wish you could've be here for then but... that wasn’t to happen. You first pulled me into the wood shed. I watched. You involved me. I listened. You taught me. I tried. You showed me. You were the first to show me to use a saw. One leg forward, one leg back. Hold the wood in the vice for support and long strokes… good job Stephie.

Stephie Weffy. That’s what you used to call me. I used to love it coming from you. My friends try to think of nicknames for me; “Stephie Keffy? Stephie Meffy? Stephy Weffy! That has a ring!!” they say. I don’t know how those words come together in people’s heads because I am known as Steph but somehow, they apparently do. “Please don’t call me that,” I say. I get the typical response, “Why’s that Stephie Weffy?”. I always feel the tears threatening behind my eyes to flow, “Because my Grandad called me that and he is dead now. That was his name for me.” They respect that and apologise. For that, I am really thankful.

I am at school now Grandad. Not home-schooling anymore. I have slotted in reasonably well and get good grades. I am a good student. Or try to be. “Steph please don’t talk to Tamika”, “you have done an excellent job but you do get distracted quite easily, try to resist talking”. You would laugh now. You can just imagine it, can’t you? I have got a nice group of friends and drift in and about groups. You would be happy to see us doing well. It’s been 6 years since you went away. 6 long years. Whenever I think about you I feel like crying. I haven’t cried lately though although I want to. 6 years of bottling up all these emotions. I’m glad I have finally written this down otherwise I would have broken down one day and let it flood. 6 years and I thought maybe this wound had healed. But salt never gets out of a wound. And deep cuts always throb in winter.  The injury won’t ever heal. It healed over still leaving a scab.  I don’t know why but over the last year I’ve been really feeling your presence.  The scab was being picked at. I don’t even remember when I would have been scratching it but I almost broke down in English last week of Term 1 this year. Miss Serico, she is my English teacher (she’s really nice, you would like her) taught us about memoirs. I thought they were happy memories only... she said they were sad aswell. Immediately I thought of you.  The tears were prickling my eyes and I almost broke down. She asked us to write down two short memoirs. I chose a sad and happy moment.

1.     Happy- learnt to drive the ute (2014- I was 11) My Dad taught me how to drive. I had to hop in my dad’s work ute with a trailer of fertiliser on the back at night and navigate my way over the ploughed paddock following my Dad on the tractor leading. Pitch black. Happy and successful that I drove the ute by myself and not crash into any fences. People involved in memory; Dad, Me

2.     Sad- Grandad died (2011- I was 6) Grandad got diagnosed with cancer when I was 7 and mum reassured us that he would end up ok. We visited him once in the hospital but I though he was just sick as mum had told us. I didn’t value the time we spent there with him. Katie and I doodled in our magazines we took with us. When we got home we were told by mum that Grandad didn’t have long to live. Katie didn’t want to see grandad in hospital again because she didn’t like to see him unwell and we didn’t get to see him again. Grandma slept over in his unit at the murgon hospital one night and during the night he passed away.  The following morning the hospital rang home. Mum answered and ran out the door taking the phone with her. She jumped in the car and sped off down the paddock to get Dad. Katie and I resumed to our game in my bedroom. Mum and Dad came back and Mum Hugged Dad.  They came into my room and Dad said ‘Grandad is-‘then he broke down and cried. We couldn’t stop crying and howling with the pain.

I felt heartbroken that I couldn’t see him before he died because I was so close to him. Grandad showed me the basics of woodwork and got me into the hobby. People involved in memory; My mum, dad, sister and I were involved and everyone who knew grandad comforted our whole family

Miss Serico asked us after if any would like to read them out. I didn’t. One of the boys in my class reached for my book and asked ever so politely if he could read what I had written. No, I said. Yes, he said. It was a tug of war. I won. He asked what I wrote. Nothing, I said. I should have given it to him. Memoirs are to sew an event with a heartfelt string of thread and I didn’t want to share you. I’m sorry Grandad.

6 slow years since you went away. I’m 14 now Grandad. Though you probably know that. 6 years ago, you showed me how to use a saw. 6 years ago, you showed me how to not bang my fingers while nailing something together. 6 years ago, you lay in a white sheeted bed. I hated that place.  The room smelt funny.  The medicine they gave you made you smell funny. I remember the room you had to yourself at the Murgon hospital. It had a blue and red and black aboriginal sun painting above the door and nurses buzzed outside. I have hated hospitals since they imprinted a flaming image that still burns strongly in my head.  They are places of sorrow. Misery. Tears. Death. I look at the word death. I can’t cry Grandad. I didn’t cry as we sang The Old Rugged Cross. I didn’t cry as the eulogy was read although I was close to it. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to appear, like I could handle this. But I was wrong. It is ok to release your emotions. It’s ok to show the pain of losing a superhero. I cried as Dad, Dwayne, Uncle Kev and Brad carried you out.  They pulled their sunglasses down and they carried you out. I cried then. I remember asking Mum a couple years later why Dad had his sunnies on that day �" it wasn’t sunny. Mum held me close ‘He was crying’. I take it back what I wrote earlier. I am crying. I’m crying for what I lost. I remember the hammer we bought to put in your coffin. It was a memory I wanted to leave with you. This isn’t just a scar now Grandad. It’s an open wound. A wound that won’t ever heal but to be shown to people when they ask for the story. It’s my battle scar which should be worn with sorrow but with pride.

I’m writing this to, for and with you, Grandad. And for me. I want this down on paper for me to remember. I know I can’t send this to you. But now that I have written these things down, I suddenly want this letter spread. For people to see that an old memory �" whether it’s a good or bad memory that it needs to be kept alive. I need to think of the good and the bad because all together it shows a quilt sewn together with an invisible but effective thread. A memoir. 

A memoir doesn’t need to be a report. It doesn’t need to be a speech. It doesn’t need to be a 7-book series and have a job as a country vet like James Herriot. It can be a thought, a diary, a song, a letter. I want people to feel what I felt… feel. Maybe it could inspire them to look at their battle scars and tell their story. It’s funny, because no matter how much thought you can put into a letter or how much emotive language you include, no one will ever completely understand about how a particular moment meant to you.

Miss Serico said she will give us our assignment within the first few weeks of school when it’s back. We have to write a memoir. I don’t know if this is what she is looking for, this letter to you Grandad. If she wants a personal experience, I’ll give her this. I want everyone who wants to, read this so they can see a bond that doesn’t have to end at death. I have always love you and I always will. I hope you won’t mind if I share this letter around. Grandad, you were my hero. I wish you could see us now I would hope you would be proud. I will forever miss you, Grandad. 

From granddaughter to superman ghost grandad,

            Stephie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He Was Just A Small Town Man

Adapted from Chelsea Peters’ poem

I'll never forget that spring day
I said to my mum, "What did the doctors say?"
My Mum paused for a moment and whispered,
"Grandad doesn’t have long’

Fighting a downhill battle
My Grandad still stayed strong
But God must have let him know
Now Heaven's where you belong

We all ask why, but we won't ever know
Why it had to be him that we had to let go
Because though it was hard to try and keep him here
It was harder still to watch him disappear

Always so loving, so smart, so kind
If only there was a way to rewind
And re-live the moments that I didn't realize
Were priceless, beautiful, something to prize

I learned how to make things, have patience, and be me
To be tolerant and understanding of all that I see
Appreciate the little things, like a good humour
To enjoy honeyed bread, down to a teasing rumour

From a small plank of wood
To a jig sawed horse, my Grandad said we could
Of good times passed, lessons learned, feelings stirred
That’s my memories that won’t ever be blurred

                      

He told me goodbye in that hospital bed                              

 I thought he meant see you soon, but ‘Goodbye’s what he said
Two children, two grandchildren, and a beautiful wife
He was proud of his the family that had grown
And came together so strongly to face the unknown

God, take my Grandad, erase his pain
I only ask that you let his spirit remain
To inspire us all to become the best we can be
And maybe one day live up to his legacy

Grandad, if you can hear us, we'll always love you
And remember your wisdom in all that we do
We know that you're with us, in your own special way
And I know that we will see you again someday

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[Tilly]

Am happy for comments please