This is a little different I guess in my writing style and tone but it was important to me that I finally write this, and I hope others may be able to relate and enjoy it. A while ago, as a teenager, I had the great privilege of knowing a man, who basically became the granddad I never had (or never knew). Here is a piece of prose in his memory. He has been dead for quite some time now, but I’m old enough to understand what my mind wants to say/write. Rest In Peace Bill.
I’m sorry if you thought this broken child saw you as just another old man, telling stories of the past.
You were much more to me.
To me, you weren’t old, you were youthful.
Your stories fascinated me, and I wish my mind would allow me to remember them better than I do.
Despite all the pain and trauma your eyes must have been scarred with, you carved away with all the peace and love in the world.
I always remember that wooden bird atop your mantelpiece, standing proudly as a souvenir of your passion. It’s image forever the first thing I think of, when I think of you.
The news of your passing was winding.
I was still young and stuck between understanding what had happened and being fraught with confusion. Your funeral is one of the most painful memories I hold.
Sat in that church, my eyes drowning in the tears falling from them. It was an emotion I hadn’t felt before. I had been upset before, I had cried many times, but this was different. Everything hurt and although the answer was in front of me, I could not understand why.
Although still young, I know more now, I understand. I can appreciate the effect your words and love had on this broken and disorderly child. For that, for what your carvings mean to me, even now, and so much more, I thank you. I hope you are resting gently.