My grandfather died on Friday. It was very much a surprise to every one. He was in his eighties, but was doing very well both mentally and physically for somebody of that age. Then, sometime in the night, he just stopped.

He was my paternal grandfather and I’ve spoken to my Dad a couple of times since then. Yesterday he seemed pretty haggared, but today he seemed OK. I think he may have been thinking about the fact that one of his parents would probably die soon for several years, as must be the way when your parents reach 80. Christ, by the time my Dad’s 80, I’ll be 55! My Dad is only 49 at the moment.

I’d been the only person I knew with four grandparents for a long time. Louise has only had one since she was 13.

It’s kind of strange. It’s a similar sensation in a way to the fact that I’m now 25. Nothing feels different, then occasionally I catch myself thinking “I’m 25” or “Leslie’s dead”. I hadn’t seen Leslie for a long time, perhaps ten years. I regret this, but my Dad put it into focus when he said that we probably all regret not seeing him that one last time.

My sympathies go to Vanessa, his second wife. They celebrated their fortieth anniversary earlier this year. They were still both pretty active and enjoying life. Now she is alone, living in a world of things she shared with him for so long. It must be terribly hard. It seems that it might be easier to give up than to go on alone, especially when you too are perhaps just counting out the days. Not that I think Vanessa is. She’s a very loving person and she has a good few children, grandchildren and step-grandchildren to attend to, amongst other things.

I also kind of wonder how my paternal grandmother must feel about it. She hasn’t been married to this man for more than forty years, but still, his life and hers were always attached through their children. It must be sobering to hear that your old adversary is dead.