Josh picked me up from the airport, which was lovely,
although slightly anticlimactic as we somehow missed each other completely
which resulted in me wandering round Terminal 3 looking for him for 15 minutes,
only to find him standing at the arrivals gate after all, leaning on the
barrier, waiting for me. I stood next to him and smiled, and he vaguely smiled
back then turned to look at the arrivals door again. He didn’t even bloody
recognize me! Obviously he did then turn back and it was fine, we laughed, but
yeah, not quite the romantic reunion I’d anticipated after 4 months apart!
My first three weeks back consisted almost exclusively of
trying to fit in seeing everyone, while making sure I spent a lot of time with
Josh, and my family. There were people I didn’t manage to see, and some I only
got to see once. It’s hard when everyone has jobs, and can only meet up in the
evening; mum was still on summer holidays at first, so I could spend the daytimes
with her, but after she went back, I spent a lot of time watching daytime TV!
My darling grandfather was diagnosed with cancer a few days
before I went back to London. It kind of seemed fated that I was coming home at
that time, to see him, just in case… Well, I could not have been more glad to
be home, to see him, spend time with him, and make sure I got to say goodbye.
He was taken into hospital about 10 days after I got back, and unfortunately,
never left. It was not an easy time, but the whole family came to see him as
much as possible, and the nurses were very patient with us when we broke the
‘only two visitors at a time’ rule. I got to see pretty much all of my extended
family a lot more than I’d expected too, and despite the circumstances, and the
fact that we were spending a lot of time in Watford General’s café ‘The Spice
of Life’, it was still really nice to see them.
Sadly, after three weeks in hospital, and only 28 days after
diagnosis, Babar passed away peacefully with my grandma and mum (his eldest) at
his side. (FYI Babar was what my grandfather was nicknamed ever since my oldest
cousin first started talking and couldn’t say Grandpa, so said Babar instead.) I
was in Italy when I got the news, cried a LOT on Josh’s shoulder, and that
evening we toasted our drinks in his honour. I was obviously devastated, but I
knew he was at least out of his pain and misery; it had not been easy for him
to remain in the hospital that long. At least he is at peace now.
Italy had been wonderful until that point - gorgeous
weather; amazing food and wine and rum and pretty much anything else with an
alcohol percentage on the bottle; a lovely little apartment in small town
Tuscany, close to the beach. That last point was actually a massive point of
contention for us. I don’t know if anyone else who has driven in Italy noticed
this, but the Italians like their fun and games when it comes to road signs.
They just stop signing a place after a while, y’know, for jokes. There were 3
beaches near us that we’d been recommended and were promised that they were all
within a 15-20 minute drive. The first one took us an hour and a half to reach
because all the signs for the bloody place just kept stopping, then we’d take a
wrong turn, and end up about 15 miles from where we’d planned to be. No joke,
you’d reach a roundabout and it would sign the town you wanted as left, then at
the next roundabout, 100 metres later, there is NO SIGN FOR THAT TOWN!
Absolutely ridiculous.
I obviously got badly sunburnt because, well let’s face it,
I’m the whitest person you know. I was wearing factor 20 as well, so to add
insult to injury, I burned through suncream, which I had been applying once an
hour. (I’m so unbelievably white.) It was the kind of sunburn where I had to
take cold showers every quarter of an hour to reduce my body temperature, but
it was isolated to my chest, so at least I could still tan my legs while hiding
my upper body under a parasol. Josh was mean about it, laughing while applying
his factor 4 tanning oil, but then he got a bit burnt too which quite frankly
proves that karma exists. We spent our last day in Pisa, which consists of a
leaning tower, and not a lot else. Still, it was a really lovely holiday and I
did not want to leave, especially to face the reality of a funeral :(
I ended up staying for an extra ten days in England, helping
with speech writing and pretending nothing had happened. The funeral itself
took place on a sunny day, which was nice in an odd way. I find funerals really
weird occasions. I remember at my other grandpa’s funeral when I was about 7,
at the wake, everyone was standing round chatting, and drinking, and laughing.
I was outraged; did no-one else think it was disrespectful to laugh? We’d just
been to a funeral, why were they smiling?! I stormed over to my mum and she
tried to explain that everyone was celebrating his life, instead of mourning
his death. I told her that everyone was rude, and that I’d just be sad on my
own, because obviously no-one else cared about him.
But I get it now. They really are the most juxtaposing
events, because you are so sad that someone you loved has gone, yet you’re
really happy because you had a chance to know them. You cry, you can’t believe
such a thing has happened, you wish it could be different. But you also laugh,
and smile, and remember good things, things that you probably hadn’t thought
about in a long time. And in general, as far as funerals go, it went well. It
was a nice day, he had a great send off, a huge amount of people came which,
considering he was 81 and had attended his share of funerals himself, was
pretty impressive. He was a lovely man and is still sorely missed. And with a
wife, 5 children, 12 grandchildren, 2 step-sons and 5 step-grandchildren left
behind, his legacy lives on.
And now I’m back in Dallas, where the temperature is in the
mid-20s, and people eat Krispy Kreme cheeseburgers for lunch (yes it’s exactly
how it sounds, and no I’m not kidding). I’m missing home of course, but only
because I know I’m not going back for a while. Plus, they sell PG Tips here
so I’ll be fine :)
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