My beloved granddad died on Friday.  He'd been poorly for a month or so with various ailments and went voluntarily into hospital on Monday - an indication of just how bad he must have been feeling.  I visited him Thursday night with mR, and my brother popped in and he was in unexpectadly good spirits.  To take his mind off the pain, we managed talked about the old days and I finally got to document a few of the facts and stories that I'd been meaning to, but due to his declining health we'd been unable to in recent weeks.  Alas, that was the last time we spoke and he shared his stories with a twinkle in his eye.  We returned to Brighton feeling that he might be over the worst, but at 0730 on Friday morning, the hospital called Granny and my parents up to the hospital and he died shortly after. 

There is some relief that he is no longer suffering, and that the end was relatively swift and he kept his dignity and marbles.  But he was in great distress at the end until he was finally allowed to slip painfree and peacefully away. 

Regrets are meaningless at times like this.  But my memories are already fading, details becoming blurred, and now it is too late to capture them.  He was such a character and influence within our family.  He was the biggest influence in our childhood, a character larger than life.  I have tried to prepare myself for this day, but it is still hard to take.

He always seemed invincible.   

We were the best of friends. 

Heart broken.