Grandad

Rob's Grandad, Roy, died last Thursday, the day before my last day at work. He had had cancer for a few years - it went into remission the first time, but then it came back again about 18 months ago. The funeral was today, so we drove up to Manchester on Wednesday night and we're going home again on Sunday.

Rob gave a lovely speech about his Grandad at the funeral this afternoon, and at the risk of repeating everything he said, here's my take on the man I called Grandad even though he wasn't related to me.

My Mum's Dad died well before I was born, when my Mum was 21, so I never met him. I remember my Dad's Dad, Grandpa, quite well but I was still relatively young (12) when he died. Then in my mid-twenties, I got a third Grandfather - one who told the worst jokes in the world. Still, I suppose there are worse qualities :).

Grandad was never sad. That is, I'm sure he had his share of highs and lows, and I'm equally sure his illness gave him some really hard days, but he never let on. He was always smiling, always happy to see us, and always ready with a big hug. He was Grandma's second husband so strictly speaking was a step-Grandad, but that didn't matter to him one bit - he was more involved with Rob and Tom than most 'regular' Grandads are, especially when they were kids. He was always interested in what we were up to, even though (especially in Rob's case) he probably didn't have the first clue what we did (let's face it, does anyone know exactly what Rob does for a living??). And he was a wonderful husband to Grandma for nearly 30 years.

I'll miss you, Grandad.