Every year after I left home my grandparents would get on the phone together and sing Happy Birthday to me. It became a much-loved family tradition.
Eight years ago today my gramps died, before he slipped into a coma he sang his last words, Happy Birthday to my brother. It was a great gift to leave him.
Eight years ago today a huge part of me died, my gramps was the rock, the man who loved me no matter what I did or said. We became closer than I thought imaginable while I cared for him as he lived out the end of his life. Those memories are as fresh today as they were then. Him being grumpy because he wanted biscuits, not oatmeal. Stop telling him to get up and move around, he’s a grown man. He didn’t need oxygen.
I lost the man who served as my father, I lost the man I loved more than anything else in the world except my granny.
I lost my gramps but have a lifetime of memories and each is precious to me.