He Ain’t Heavy.
I wrote what is to follow on the return from Runcorn on Friday evening after visiting my Grandparents in Runcorn, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to share. Sadly, this morning, that changed. Grandad ‘Tache passed peacefully at home. May he rest in peace.
We stood there, and from one angle she looked like a giant, and from the other a dwarf. Perspective is the most important thing, and it matters not necessarily what in reality my Nanna is, but what I think of her. She stood, either way, proud in front of the market stood that had provided much of her and my Grandad’s livelihoods.
It was a sweet stall, bearing the family name above the counter, stocked high and colourful. Behind, on the back wall, stood jars and jars of all sorts of sweets like that of a sorcerer, and I suppose to the kids they served over the years, and to my nephews who recently also visited, there was a kind of magic surrounding the sweet stall.
I turned to Nanna and asked, “What’s your favourite?” in hope that she could help me come to a decision of what I should have. “I only come here for the cough sweets now,” was her reply.
There is a very specific, dry scene of humour that runs throughout my family that when it reached my brother, sister and I was a combination of dry sarcasm from Nanna and Grandad ‘Tache from the banks of the Mersey, and a dark wit sourced from my Grandma and Grandad from London and the north Kent coast.
In the end, I chose some soft rhubarb and custards, and split some ‘unicorn’ chocolate with my brother, and even then we were given a discount by the current owner. I put it down to the legacy my Nanna and Grandad have.
Because despite the bloody difficult facade and the stoic perseverance, underneath Grandad ‘Tache has a heart, though he would hate me telling you that. It was warm and full of love, even if the way he chose to show it wasn’t always clear, or came across as mean and nasty.
See, that’s the harsh reality of my journey to Merseryside. It wasn’t a trip to escape London, but instead a moment to be able to spend some final, fleeting moments and say goodbye. That’s what makes writing this so difficult, not knowing what’s going to pass and how much more fight Grandad ‘Tache has left in him.
When my maternal Grandad and Grandma both came to the end of their lives, I wanted to spend time with them, in order to keep their memory as fresh in my mind. Both were forgetful towards the end and it seemed kinder that they passed. In a weird way, it was fairer for them to go, then to suffer any longer.
Grandad ‘Tache however, still has sound mind, and perhaps that’s why this feels somewhat more cruel.
We visited him at the hospice and joked around with him. He told us about the love of his life, Dolly – my Nanna, and how she was so wonderful to him. We drank tea, and gossiped about our relationships. And in this end, despite my fear, he asked me clear as day how my boyfriend was.
I had been protective of all my grandparents, and seldom talked about my relationships for fear of disapproval, but something cleared and all of a sudden it was like it never mattered, and would never matter, as long as I was happy. It honestly meant the world to me.
He was clearly exhausted though, after spending the best part of an hour with my brother and I, and he needed to rest before Nanna visited later in the afternoon. As we said our goodbyes, and he offered his hand to shake as usual, pulled us in and hug us and kiss us goodbye, and tell us both he loved us – something I never remember him doing before.
In the last few days he spent at the hospice, he was growing with frustration to go home. I suspected it was because he wanted to be in a familiar place when he passed, surrounded by mementos and photographs collected over a lifetime, in the security and sanctuary of what he knew.
So, to Grandad ‘Tache – you were a wonderful, stubborn, difficult man, and we loved you all the more because of it. Without you to wind us all up, say things you shouldn’t say and get frustrated at the world around you, our lives will be less colourful. We will miss you and we love you – thanks, Ace!
Today has been a day of reflection for all of us, remembering Grandad ‘Tache. My brother reminded me earlier of a song that evokes his memory for Grandad; The Hollies’ ‘He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother’.
The road is long, with many of winding turns
That lead us to (who knows) where, who knows where?
But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him - yeah
He ain't heavy - he's my brotherSo long we go, his welfare is my concern
No burdon is he to bear, we'll get there
But I know he would not encumber me
He ain't heavy - he's my brotherIf I'm leaving at all, if I'm leaving with sadness
That everyone's heart isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another.It's a long, long road, from which there is no return
While we're on the way to there, why not share?
And the long doesn't way me down at all
He ain't heavy - he's my brother