h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I haven't got any surviving grandparents - my Dad's Dad died before I was born, my Mum's Mum died of leukaemia when I was about seven or eight, my Mum's Dad had a heart attack when he was living with us and I was fifteen, and my Dad's Mum died about ten years ago when I was at University.

It's my Uncle Jim who's in trouble, health-wise - he's an amazing man, and probably the nearest thing I've got to a living grandparent. He's not actually a blood relative, but he lived over the back fence of the house my Dad grew up in, and was my Dad's Dad's best mate, and remained a great friend of the family after he died - keeping an eye on my Grandma and her sisters and doing stuff for them, and we always went to see him when we went down to Brighton to visit the family and he was always brilliant to us. Him and his wife never had children, so he took a great interest in me and my brother, took us for some great days out and stuff.

He's 93, so must have been 63 when I was born, so I always knew him as an old person but he never seemed old to me until maybe last year. I always thought he would go on for ever - he always seemed to be able to do just about anything. Before he retired he used to be head of Parks and Gardens in Eastbourne, and he was always strong as an ox and looked years younger than he was. The outdoor life must have done him good. I've always had so much time and respect for him - because of my Italian ex-girlfriend, I remember him telling me that he and his wife used to drive to Italy for their holidays because he'd been there in the war and liked it and made friends there. That was quite something, I think, at a time when hardly anyone used to go abroad.

My Dad's gone down to see him today. It seems he's got testicular cancer and he's not got very long to live - they're going to do an operation at some point, but it won't stop the cancer. Dad's the first person he's allowed to see him - he's still very independent-minded and doesn't want people to see him in the state he's in. He's also something of a product of his time about talking about these things, and Dad's probably the nearest thing he's got to a son.

I did a lot of crying this morning. Haven't cried so much in ages. I found out yesterday, but I only got the details from Dad at about 11 o'clock last night when I was out with my housemates. It started to hit me then - but I thought, Jim's the kind of bloke that wouldn't want me to be sitting around moping about him, he's always been the actions speak louder than words type of person, so I told the boys about him and the state he was in and we drank a few toasts to him and had a damn good dance. So only got home at about half six this morning, and it's only since I've been up that the whole thing's really started to sink in.

But although he might agree to see me at some point, he might not. So I'm going to write him a letter today. You know, if I could be even a little bit like him when I get old, that would make me happy.

Although I think I'm going back to bed with my hangover now to practise Hong Fu for a bit...

I've also resolved to try and be a better Uncle to my brother's kids. My sister-in-law's an only child, so I'm the only Uncle they've got. And they don't live far away, but I hardly ever see them. I've only seen them once this year.

It doesn't help that I'm working six days a week at the moment, but you've got to make time for people while they're still there, haven't you?

Don't know what to say, but want to say summat

Thanks

I suppose the thing with this sort of thing is to try and make sure something good comes out of it.

If it inspires you to do something, and that something has a positive result, then something good will have come out of it

It's been my observation that the westerns world's apparent obsession with sadness about death - you have to be wailingly and gnashingly-of-teeth upset about someone's death otherwise you're callous, cold-hearted bastard - and the tendency of people to avoid anything and everything to do with it - "Oh don't say those things, it's morbid", all too often blind our eyes to what good can come out of it if we just stop to think about things for a moment or two.

Just remember to ask him everything you want to know, before it's too late.

My nan died this morning, and I've lost the answers to a thousand unanswered questions. Her family has just lost the little roots that kept it all connected.

answers to a thousand *unasked* questions

Mina

6

Jules

both... not much I can say really. It's one of those times when everything sounds like a cliche.

I can only echo what Mina said - plus tell him what he meant to you, Oscar Wilde would have had no time for me, in that I've managed to lose 4 parents, and I never asked the questions or said the words.

All the best both.

A quick update, which I didn't post during a partial absence from h2g2. I managed to see Jim a couple of weeks ago - I went down with my Dad. He's not in brilliant condition, the hospital have sent him home because there's nothing more they can do for him.

He's on morphine, and as he said himself, he could have three weeks left or three days. And he can't talk very well, or focus for much more than an hour without getting tired. But I'm hugely pleased I went.

We had a really nice chat, I told him about a few things I'd been doing and asked him about his time in Italy, and I think I managed to get over to him how much I appreciate him. And I mowed both his lawns for him - he's got a monster of a back garden, and it's on a hill!

I still want to be like him if I ever grow up...

Jim died this morning.

My Dad phoned me and told me just now - because I've lost my mobile, it was the first time he'd managed to get hold of me to tell me. Apparently it was quite a painless death, as they go - he just basically drifted away and went to sleep. And he died in his own house while he still had his marbles, which was what he wanted.

I mean, he had the cancer and he wasn't going to get better and this was bound to happen, and now it has it's happened in more or less the best possible way.

But I just don't want him to be dead, you know?

Jules

Thank you, everyone

I've had a good cry and I feel a bit better now.

Now, seeing as Jim loved Italy and Italian things, I'm going to make a huge pasta sauce, open a bottle of wine that I'd brought back from Tuscany in 2001 and had been saving for a special occasion - if this isn't a special occasion, I don't know what is, and besides, Jim told me he'd been to the village where it came from - and watch a Federico Fellini movie.

Sounds like a very fitting tribute

Sorry for your loss, Six.

It's nice you can see the good side (well, you know what I mean, it's hard to find the right words at a time like this).

Well, quite!

The funeral's in Brighton on Friday morning at 9.00 - I've managed to get the morning off work. It's strange, this will be the first funeral I've been to for 8 years, so my first one as a proper adult.

My grandma (my Dad's mum) was the last of my grandparents to die, and I was 22 at the time, and I'd seen her quite a lot that year yet never really believed she was going to die. And although I was 22 I was still basically a big kid and just buried my head in the sand to avoid thinking about the possibility of her dying - I was lucky that I saw her enough (or my parents, probably knowing more than I did, made sure I did) not to have regrets when she did.

Since then, nobody's died in our family. My grandma's husband died before I was born, and my Mum's mum and dad when I was 9 and 15 respectively. My grandpa was living with us when he suddenly had a heart attack, and he'd been a big influence on me (he was the only one of our family that really liked sport) so that one really hurt.

Thinking about it, there are only two people left of that generation in my family, and they're both still in Brighton - my grandma's sister, who never got married and I think was probably a bit of a rebel (we've always got on well!) and Jim's wife, and like Jim she isn't a blood relative.

My parents are 64 and 65 - older than my grandparents were when I was born. My brother's a couple of years older than me and he's got two kids aged 6 and 3. I suppose it's a combination of my Mum having me when she was 34, and my 'failure' to grow up and start a family... but suddenly I'm realising I'm fast running out of relatives.

If, as seems statistically likely although not actually not that likely, *if* I meet someone in the next five years *and* settle down *and* change my mind and decide I want kids, they probably won't have much of a family left on my side.

I'm not sure what all this means or even how I feel about it, but it's probably doing me good to be at least thinking about it.

That's a coincidence (or better word which I can't think of) as I was just having similar thoughts last night.

My Dad died ten years ago and now Spouse's Dad has just been given a very short life expectancy due to cancer. So I was musing over having to tell any future children about both their Grandfathers and how I would do that.



Jules