Grandad

Today, and I should have done this 2 days ago, I want to reflect on the life of the oldest man I have know - my Grandad, who turned 95 years old on Monday 28 February 2011.

He has always been a part of my life, the second husband of the Grandma I adore and looking back he never seemed to change. That is until he retired from cricket umpiring and his health started to degrade.

The last time I visited him, we went to the care home in which he has been since November and met him in the lounge after breakfast. My first thought was that he looked sad. Old, tired and sad and this wasn't something I was expecting. Until recently he has been adamant that he wants to go home, to be cared for at home despite the fact that this was not possible. Now he seems to have accepted that he can't go home, that he needs the constant care that the home can offer him and that we had no intention of putting him in there and forgetting about him. I have to confess that I am not a frequent visitor - the 90 miles just to get there is a bit too far to do every week but my mum and sister have rallied and visit as much as they can often taking Grandma who has also a wide network of friends who visit and help where they can.

One of the things I struggle most with is remember the viabrant and active man when looking at the frail, tired and ill man who could barely remember anything and for whom life holds no joy.

I look into my uncertain future and see a haze but through that haze I hope that become old is a joyous experience and I hope that I don't have to suffer in my old age but live it in dignity and with quality.