My grandfather died last Friday afternoon. He lived a good long life and had been bed-ridden for almost six years, but he was and still is, in my heart, the most wonderful Gramps. Kind, generous, patient, tall and handsome.
The grief I feel is that low, deep, hurting kind.
One of my fondest memories of my Gramps (there are many, so very many) are those of the outdoor, gumboot wearing variety. We spent a lot of time outdoors with my Granny and Gramps. They built the most spectacular house in the Adelaide Hills, on an amazing and vast acreage and our childhood was spent exploring it with each other and with them. I remember so vividly Gramps’ gumboots standing to attention at the back door like two tall soldiers on guard. He had the biggest gum boots and my siblings and I would take turns trying to run in them, inevitably falling in a giggling heap time and time again.
My dear friends arrived home from the UK last week and they brought me a belated birthday present of gumboots.