The Ones We Lose

Yesterday was the birthday of my Grandad. When I was young this was always a day that the whole family got together, usually to have a BBQ which he would do in his garden. Me and my cousins would play around outside, maybe in the paddling pool. The adults would play some cards as the day wore on (probably start with Running Out of 7s, followed by pairs Cribbage). I am 7 years older than my next cousin, so I also remember playing along at cards. The memories of the bank holiday weekend are always good ones for me, and since his passing in 2015, it is the weekend when I most remember him. 

This weekend was no different, and this year it really got me thinking about the people we lose in our lives, and the impact they have on us. In this post I want to share the impact some of the important people in my life, who I have now lost, have had on me as a person.

Grandad

My Grandad was quite a character. He was the happiest person I have ever known, and growing up seeing him every week was a joy. Even into my late teens I went tenpin bowling every week with him and my Nanny Pat (we were a team in a league). Those Tuesday afternoons were a special day, as I would go over there after school, have dinner with them, then head to the bowling alley. Even when I learned to drive, I would drive to their house first for this weekly tradition. I even blew off my friends to spend time with my Grandad and Nanny Pat. It was a highlight of my week.

My Grandad was unique. Ridiculously flirtatious, always smiling, friends with everybody he met. He was also a fixer, a people pleaser, and hated to see anybody he cared about unhappy. These are not things I actively remember about him, but things I have learned later in life. If there was tension in the family, he would make some joke to lighten the mood. He was the patriarch of the family. The glue that held us all together.

When I went to University in 2006, he drove up with me in my car, whilst my Dad followed in his van with all my stuff. When somebody knocked on the door to our student accommodation, he was the one who answered. That is how my now wife met my Grandad before she even met me! Me and my Dad were in the bedroom connecting to the internet, whilst my Grandad was flirting with the 18 year olds at the front door. He invited them in for tea. I didn't have any tea. Or coffee (I didn't, and still don't, drink hot drinks). But he was (partially) the reason I met my wife. 

He and Nanny Pat came to my Graduation in 2010. I could tell they were both so proud of me. He was a plumber, she managed the business. They were so proud that their grandson had gone to St Andrews. And they would not have missed celebrating that with me for the world.

He was taken from us too early. In late 2014 he was diagnosed with cancer. Fortunately it was relatively short, and he died in April 2015. My wife and I moved to Peru in early 2014, so I did not see him whilst he was ill. I am thankful for that in many ways, as my memories of him are being healthy. 

But my Grandad left me with so much more than memories. He was the personification of generosity of spirit, and I like to think that I get that from him. He was a massive extrovert. That I definitely do not get from him. He was always trying to make people happy, and, for better or worse, I follow in those footsteps. I have his hairline.

Ray Tointon was my Grandad, and he will always be in my heart.

Nanny Pat

A little over a year later, Nanny Pat passed as well. Many of my memories of Nanny Pat are intricately linked to Grandad. She was his rock, his guiding beacon. Sure he flirted, but you just had to see how he looked at her to know that she was the only one for him. I am sure she died of heartbreak. 

Whilst a less obvious character than Grandad in many ways, she was the one I could talk to about things that were bothering me. She would listen. We could talk for hours. Often whilst waiting for Grandad to return from work before going bowling, we would have our chance to catch up. She was always doing stuff in the background to make sure everything was the way it should be. She wasn't a fixer like Grandad, but her ability to listen made you feel better no matter what.

She could be stubborn too. She stopped talking to her brother for years after a family drama. She would always cook, even though there was the family joke about how Grandad must have no tastebuds (her cooking left most dishes distinctly flavourless).

She was a quiet force to be reckoned with, with a quiet determination to get things done. That is what I get from her. I will get things done, but in a quiet and unassuming way. I don't like to be the centre of attention, but see myself as a vital cog to get things done. Whilst I am not as good as her, I am working on my listening. Being there for the people that matter, just to listen, was her superpower, and I do my best to emulate that.

Pat Tointon (nee Isaacs) was my Nanny Pat, and she will always be in my heart.

Thankfully, both Grandad and Nanny Pat were able to make it to my wedding, and were both healthy for it. When my wife and I married in August 2013, they were both there in St Andrews with us, and the wedding photos are one of my final memories of them both.

One of the saddest parts of their passing when they did though is that they didn't get to meet their great-grandchild who was born in 2017.

The Miscarriages

I have written before about The Hardest Time of My Life. Briefly, before the birth of our son, my wife and I went through 4 miscarriages. It was not a good time. Nanny Pat was one of the few family members who knew. We were not at a point to be able to share that with others at the time (something that, looking back, was a mistake).

But those four babies were losses for me as much as any other family member who has passed. They taught me to be more human, and treasure the human connections we make. They taught me to be more resilient, to keep trying, to push through it. They taught me that life is not always roses, that we all have to go through difficult times. They taught me that family is more important than work.

And they taught me to be more open about how I feel. I am not a particularly open person when it comes to my feelings and what I am thinking, but going through that time made me realise that I have to be open with the people I love, and particularly my wife. I am not perfect at it, and I still find it hard to share my feelings. But I try. I want to be more comfortable doing it.

Nanny Pop

My feeling is that it is not common for people to have a great-grandmother into adulthood. I did. Nanny Pop (or just Nan) was my great-grandmother. I remember sitting with her in her house having rich tea biscuits with butter. I remember playing buses with her on the stairs. I remember playing Beggar My Neighbour in her sitting room.

I remember her being at my wedding at the age of 91. I remember her face when she first talked to me via Skype when we were in Peru. I remember her face when she met my son, her great-great-grandson.

I don't think many families can boast having 5 generations alive at the same time.

Nanny Pop died this year after a couple of years battling old age. She made it to 98. 

She was always the person in the background, listening and learning about people. She didn't do anything with the information, she just knew that being there for people was important. She was the embodiment of trust. Anything you said to her was safe. I do my best to be somebody that people can trust. I am trying harder to not engage in gossip. I want people to know me as somebody they can talk to, without fear of that information being repeated.

Dora Farman (nee Neil) was my great-grandmother, and she will always be in my heart.