Dad called me at half eight this morning. Grandad died at half past one in the morning. I went back to Trees Road to meet my siblings, and then went over to my grandparents’ house. He knew it was coming, so he’d made clear how he wanted (at least some) things done. So far, we’ve broken only one injunction - he had said two candles max - there’s currently one big one, and two little tea-lights

It’s been a long day, there’s been a lot to do (which helped - keeping busy can keep you going sometimes). There’s a lot more to do in the coming days. It’s all very surreal. He’s resting at home at the moment - he looks a lot better than he did over the last couple of months, and yet he also looks like a waxwork. Every now and then, a trick of the candlelight or someone bumping against the bed makes it look like he’s breathed, or moved again.

He’ll be at home tomorrow, the removal will be to St Matthew’s at half five on Tuesday, and the funeral will be at eleven on Wednesday.

So if I’m hard to contact over the next week or so, please bear with me. I’ll be back when I’m back - if it’s urgent, text or leave me a voicemail(!). If it’s something that needs my attention, but not right now, email me directly - email bankruptcy is not far off with some of the lists I’ve been trying to follow!

It seems like so long ago that Grandad first had a bad turn. Wondering, worrying whether he’d be able to attend the wedding - wondering whether he’d even still be alive at that stage… He came to the wedding, and it was wonderful to have him there. He stayed right the way until the evening, ate & enjoyed the meal, everything. It took a lot out of him, but he was definitely able for it.

So when mum called over yesterday and mentioned that he didn’t look like he was going to last long, I reminded her of how we’d been saying the same thing six weeks ago. And of course, an hour or so after I’d seen her, she sent me a text, including the message that grandad was doing much better. I spoke to dad in the afternoon, and he said that grandad had gotten through a pretty awful night, but also mentioned that he was looking much better now.

Those of you who’ve been through something similar will understand that I’m not just being heartless when I say that we had a lot on yesterday, and we didn’t go over to visit. But since we had time today, and were going to be over that direction anyway (to visit the Christmas food market at Farmleigh), we had planned to visit. That plan was set in stone when dad phoned to say Grandad had 24-48h left.

We visited this afternoon - how bizarre to be the one seeing the neighbours out, saying “thank you so much for visiting”… Grandad’s sedated now - he’s effectively under something akin to a general anaesthetic, in his own bed (although in what I always knew as Grandma’s room - the sewing machine, spare mattresses, bits and bobs have all been moved out of the largest room, and he’s been sleeping there for a while now, so that there can always be someone with him.) He’s having a lot of trouble breathing - it sounds more like he’s gargling than anything else. He’s being well looked-after - how could he not be, with the army of health professionals that are his family! Grandma’s tired, and obviously upset, but holding up very well really. The house is a bit mad of course - and it’ll only get moreso when my aunts & uncles (two of each) and cousins (five of those) arrive from Canada on Tuesday.

I felt a bit like a child, asking questions like “is he having difficulty breathing” (of course! That’s part of why he’s sedated so - he felt like he was constantly choking) and “is he aware of what’s going on” (no)… It’s hard to comprehend emotionally where Grandad is right now. He’s alive, but he’s not going to “wake up” again. I’ve said goodbye to him, a month ago today, and yet it feels so inadequate. I was just saying goodbye for that one day - not forever.

And yet, we’re a pragmatic family, we get on with things. Kevin, I heard Grandma say, is going to take the decorations and the crib down from the attic tomorrow; we have to celebrate Christmas. Several times while we were sitting up with Grandad, we had a laugh together. I’m looking forward to seeing the cousins I haven’t seen in three years - cousins my siblings have never met… It’ll be wonderful to have the family “all” together again. And yet, the family will never be all together again. We can laugh, and it can ease things for a moment, but it doesn’t make the pain go away.

What a very odd, in-between, nowhere-land this is.