Yesterday, we all came together to celebrate the life of a man I had always assumed would live forever, a man who was always there to tell a tale or crack a joke. A man more in love with his wife than I’ve ever witnessed, even though he had a grumpy way of showing it at times. But despite his grumpy ways, he was always joking around with us, threatening to have Nan sew up the rips in our jeans, and daring us to take a sip of his evening whiskey. I spluttered every time, and he’d laugh, tell us ‘that’s why it’s only for adults’ and pull us in for a big Grandad cuddle.
I always marvelled at his energy, spending endless afternoons with us playing in the garden with that sunny D basketball that never seemed to scuff no matter how hard we threw it, and challenging us to games of swing ball. He was unbeatable in every game, including chess and checkers, and knew every trick in the book, which is why I knew how difficult it was for him to accept he could no longer do the things his younger body enabled him to. But I am sure he’s up there now looking for a dog to walk, a grass to mow or a fruit shoot to drink. I still expect to hear him say he’s been given too much dinner, but insist there’s always room for dessert. I can hear his singing in the kitchen and begging Nan for a bottle of wine with dinner, just cause he fancied it. And despite their comical bickering, I can still see the love they shared, forever acting like teenagers as they pulled tongues at one another or laughed together as they muttered inside jokes. A true example of never giving up, even when the going gets tough, and forever my inspirations. And so tonight, I’ll raise a metaphorical glass of whiskey, cause I still can’t stand the taste, to Douglas Lemon and Lime Thompson, the best Grandad I could have ever wished for. I’ll forever miss and love you Grandad, may you rest in eternal peace.
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