The chosen ones

Musings

Apr 25

I grew up not knowing either of my biological grandfathers.

One passed away a year before I was born, to the day. The other was, simply, not in the picture.

That does not mean, however, that I was without a grandfather figure in my life. In fact I have had a many wonderful men that filled this role in varying capacities.

There was the gentleman who lived directly opposite us in my first home in the Grange. He grew chokos (possible the most pointless vegetable) and would always have a jar of very hard mints on the shelf. Doug was just kind of always around, and I loved him dearly. He passed away when I was 17.

Another related by blood – my Great Uncle. He would buy us locally made chocolates and his bar fridge was full of soft drinks. Phil would let us play Pool in his treasured shed for hours on end. He left this earth when I was 22.

And one other particularly special soul, that my mother ensured to have fruit and ice cream on hand whenever he visited so that he could have dessert following dinner. He was a noble and gentle man, who lived life to the fullest despite his chronic illness. I did not see him often enough, and for that I hold myself responsible. He passed away on Anzac Day last week.

I do have some wonderful grandfathers remaining – gifted to me by my husband. I look forward to seeing one of them in June. Pop particularly likes hot chips with his Indian curry and is quite partial to oysters.

What is the point of this story, you ask?

Well, people say you can't choose your family, and I certainly didn't choose these men.

They chose me.

I will leave you on that sombre note with some words from a book from 1995, compiled by our dear friend Richard:

Peace is the still sea waiting for the rising sun;

Peace is a butterfly landing on a flower in gentle reflection;

Peace is walking alone with no one except nature;

Peace is being in a crowd yet knowing you are special;

Peace is being able to hold the hand of the one you love;

Peace is the feeling of contentment as you drift off to sleep.