But Not Forgotten

Since you’ve been gone so much has changed. I wander what you’d make of the people that sit around the old dining-room table on a Sunday now. There have been divorces and comings out and disagreements and the addition of two loveable but highly destructive dogs. What would you make of it all?

You’ve been gone for such a long time it’s hard to imagine you were ever really here. But I know you were once. My sense of humour, my sense of right and wrong and my sense of the ridiculous could only have come from you. And there are 7 other people that can claim the same thing.

Of all those kids and grandkids, I feel privileged to have lived under the same roof as you until the end. I remember the long, rambling chats we had, the way you would stand as you made your routine Teletext checks, how, with the news as a backdrop, you were the only person who has ever managed to make me understand the world’s complexities. I remember the knowledge you passed on to me and the delight I felt whenever I heard you passing on a titbit you’d gotten from me.

It amazes me how much of my everyday life you still affect. I remember everything you taught me. From how to make the perfect cuppa to how to treat other people, it’s all still there. And then there’s the way I smile at your picture every morning and how I have to pick up your watch every time I’m in my room and happen to go passed it.

I have a second photo of you in my room. You’re a teenager in your school football kit, smiling out at me. This is my favourite picture of you. Everything’s ahead, you haven’t even met Mum yet… I know I could be a brat back then but I wish you could see me now. I wish you could see us all now.

I know you’re smiling down on us. And it comforts me to think that your fun-filled, miserly, loyal, daft ways live on in the rest of us.

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