On Remembrance, Grief, & Honouring a Life Well-Lived

A week ago, we laid our grandfather to rest. Finally, he is at peace. One with the earth. Returned to his Master in the Heavens above. Here, today, I wanted to just ruminate on remembering loved ones, the waves of grief, and what it means to honour someone’s life.

On the day of his funeral, a few things stood out to me.

1. Dirt under my fingernails, like feathers in my palm, waiting to plant him solidly in the earth he loved so well
2. The respect passers-by paid to his hearse as he drove by – taking off their hat, sign of the cross
3. Shovelling the dirt – we in Jamaican culture (and many others) bury our dead ourselves; so we shovelled the huge pile of dirt to cover our grandad; it was hard work, but we all took it in turns and it was a very profound, meaningful, bonding experience
4. Singing and clapping – my grandad loved to sing and praise in his kitchen and in church in equal measure
5. Shared stories – many of the speeches crossed over because we had similar experiences with him, like his tomatoes, his love of all the children, his sweet tooth, his smile, his hugs

The five senses of remembrance:

These are either things I’ve done since his passing or markers of things that were so very “him” during my 31 years in his presence.

Taste – Pepsi max, Guinness punch, fried dumplings, rice and peas, plantain; tomatoes from his garden passed on to friends, family and neighbours; sending us home with bags full of malted milk or rich tea biscuits, nutriment drink, tropical juice, Schloer, or fresh fruit and beg

Touch – his gnarled wooden walking stick which he fixed with a nail when it broke, lasting him many more years; the knob on his steering wheel to help his bad shoulder; high fives and shoulder grabs when I put my annoying uncle in his place; hot water bottles in the big bed when we sleepover as kids

Smell – wearing his cardigan which still holds his scent embedded in its fibres; smelling his flowers in his garden and those so beautifully collected and arranged on his burial site; the smell of his garden and how he trimmed his long hedges by himself into his 80s; the propane heater in the hallway (same one since I was young); the potent smell of his green alcohol rub that he put on his face to prevent illness

Sight – photos in his honour on my bookcase, walking through his garden, his walking stick, his sunday best, his sweater vests and cardigans, medical necklace with the snakes crossing on it; the red bench he made with his own hands that we all sat on in his garden; his haggard caps he wore to work in the garden; how he’d point with his walking stick in the air; gold tooth and brilliant smile; his cheeky wink; the way he would screw up his face in a “so there” gesture when he was teasing or being teased; his henry vacuum cleaner; wordsearches and crossword puzzles we did together; peeling apples and pears in long impressive curls onto his empty plate after dinner and offering pieces to everyone

Sound – singing and listening to his favourite gospel songs and hymns with his congregation; listening to his voicemail messages saved onto my phone; his laugh; singing while cooking; calling my teddies “Suzie no matter how many times I told him their real names

The little things that were so distinctly us:

• Deleting the unwanted text messages from his phone for him – always showing him how but he always forgot! But I secretly liked being useful to him
• Watching him expertly reversing his car into his garage
• Paying my £5 to wash his car (I was a very unreliable car washer!)
• Sneaking a £10 note into our pockets for us to find later
• Sitting and waiting for him to take his insulin before we ate the dinner he made us, because he insisted on dishing it up before taking it even though that wasn’t logistically sensible!
• I poured his Guinness punch for him in his large pint glass, whereas Nan has a small half glass full
• I always cleared the plates and loaded the dishwasher after Thursday night dinners
• Hide and seek in the dark as kids

I will always love you, Grandad. Every day since your passing, I’ve had a memory flash into my mind. Sometimes I forget you’re actually gone, and not just at your house or even in hospital where I can go and visit. I regret the times I rushed home instead of soaking up every second with you. I’d give anything for one of your hugs right now.

Rest easy, you amazing man.

Love,

Your Rosie x