My Grandfather’s Memorial
I felt like we met far later than we should have. Perhaps it was the pandemic, suffocating us in such a way, that our only outlet was to pick up the phone, but we found each other and something clicked. I guess we both realised after so many years that we had a lot to talk about and it seemed a chance to make up for lost time. Thank god you learned how to use Skype, then messenger, then Telegram. I told my friends you must be the oldest person on there.
Thanks for your help during my journey to create sourdough. That first batch was horrible, but you were right: a bit of sugar really made the difference. Was it this moment that really started everything between us? I can’t remember.
I loved your stories of life in the bread factory, especially how you were the one to come fix the machines at four in the morning. You were proud in that moment, I could tell. I feel the same when I’m good at something. I guess I know where that comes from.
Do you remember all the times we discussed history? Your reverence of World War Two, the chaps who left and the ones that thankfully came back to your home town. They shared their stories to you, you shared your stories to me, and I told you of the country I now call home. Across generations, we all fell together into the same pot that shaped us all. Did I tell you I read almost all the books you recommended me?
I’m glad you trusted her, even when I told you she was from Russia. Even despite them having a leader that, as you said, has his eyes too close together. Thank you for always asking about her too, it really meant a lot: to both of us. I’m glad you liked her paintings. I wish I’d sent you more photos.
I’m not sure if you noticed, but I spent a lot of time watching you, that time we went to the farm, just the four of us. I think I was trying to somehow imprint you into my memory. You eating bacon and eggs with way too much butter, you drinking the most whisky I’ve ever seen a 93 year old drink, and you sitting outside, telling me and Brad a story, while we all felt a bit rough around the edges from the night before. I guess we can’t choose what sticks in our heads.
I remember that time I told you I loved you and you finally said it back. I swear you almost fell out of your chair when you realised what you’d said. You got soft in your old age, eh? That one will stick with me forever.
We both knew forever can’t ever be. I know you were ready. I know you wanted to leave for some time. Maybe it was after granny died, or Lyn, but we spoke about it: you were tired.
I’m just glad you stuck around for long enough for us to become friends.
You always said to us after your stories: “Those were the days, my friend, those were the days.” I’m not sure where you got that from. I probably should’ve asked.
Well, grandpa, Des, great grandpa: those were our days. And I’m forever grateful you chose to spend some of yours with me.