The possibility of that love

Yesterday, I spent an emotional hour reading through dozens of letters which were written to my late Grandmother on the occasion of her husband’s unexpected death. Grandad Bill (my son's namesake) died when I was 18 months old, on his wedding anniversary, 37 years ago tomorrow. Grandma had kept the letters (each in their envelope) and my Mum first read them when she was sorting Grandma’s things after she died in 2013.

I learned a lot from my mum yesterday evening which I had never asked or known about before and feel like I ought to record it while it is fresh in my mind and heart.

Although Grandad had been ill for a while, he had kept the symptoms to himself and there were only three weeks between his first visit to the doctor and his death from cancer of the oesophagus and liver. No one was expecting it except, perhaps, him. He was still working and my mum and dad had just moved close to where he and my Grandma lived. He’d begun to be excited about visiting us and had already brought us a pet goldfish, and some frogspawn to wonder at. He was a big fan of kids, and in 1981 he had six grandchildren.

So many of the letters were touching. Whether they were written by long term friends, work colleagues (senior or junior) or associates from the religious (Buddhist), political (SDP) or sporting (bowling and cricket clubs) communities, each letter was and is a glowing endorsement of his wonderful, personable qualities. His kindness, wit, wisdom and understanding were all commented upon with great warmth. His kind acts, his sense of fun, his genuine interest in others were all highlighted. After an hour I was in absolutely no doubt that my Grandad Bill was a much- loved man.

One letter sticks out for me. From a man who seemed to be younger than my grandad. He said that in a time of great need and loneliness, Grandad Bill took particular and specific interest in him and by doing so created within him a confidence which was much needed. It sounded deep, like there was some serious backstory. At the end of the letter he wrote ‘I miss the possibility of that love. I miss his turn of phrase. I miss him, and remember’.

Today I feel both full and sad to know him a little better.