Grandpa

Dear Isaac

You both in London at 10 weeks, London 2009

It has been three months since your Grandpa passed away, almost exactly give or take a few hours. I'm sitting here listening to the song we chose to play as we walked into his funeral service - The Wonder Of You by Elvis Presley. Listening to it makes me happy and sad at the same time; happy because it reminds me of him and I can see him singing along in his funny way and punching the air during the chorus and sad because I know I'll never see him do it again. I'm writing this so you will know a little about him and also so that I have a reminder of my step-Dad.

There's so much I want to tell you about him because you won't remember knowing him. He loved his family immensely. He loved you so very much and loved that you were his grandson. There are so many things that made him who he was. Peter Edward Russell, Per. His great love was sailing. When I first knew him he had a yacht called Miss Tickle, which I thought was hilarious. If you say it quickly it sounds like Mystical, which I also thought was rather splendid. I liked sailing with Peter; we used to go to Cowes on the Isle of Wight. When he retired he did a lot of fundraising for the R.N.L.I. which he believed to be a very worthy charity, as do I.

At my 26th birthday meal, June 2007

He loved country music. I have memories of him driving me back to school on a Sunday evening listening to Crystal Chandeliers or Rose Garden. Elvis, Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton (or Dolly Partits as he'd call her) always remind me of him. Whenever we went anywhere on holiday in the car he would insist on playing On The Road Again by Willie Nelson. This was the song we played to walk out to at his funeral and I didn't cry during the service until I heard that. 

He liked brown sauce, big American style hamburgers and lasagne. He was partial to the odd Kit Kat and Mars Bar. He loved to drink black coffee and I sometimes used to think that, if cut, he'd bleed black coffee instead of blood. He wasn't short, but not particularly tall either. He always made a joke about his hair and how I had to be careful with him because he only had two strands left. This wasn't true at all, but he had a lot more of it when he was younger and was known as the Golden Gnome as a consquence! A recent revelation for me! He was a fan of Aston Villa FC. I wasn't sure why until a few weeks ago. He loved rugby and played it during his time at Welbeck College as well being a boxer there. He loved going back to visit and always used to joke about how "awful" it was that they let girls attend these days. He had a very dry sense of humour, which I didn't really understand until I was a little older than when we met. He loved the The Goon Show and Monty Python. He would regularly tell me (in a comedic fashion) "SFG!" (shut your festering gob you tit, your type really makes me puke! from the Monty Python Argument sketch) or would burst into song, usually the one sung by the Knights Who Say Ni.

At mine and Daddy's wedding, March 2008

He was a hugely intelligent and articulate man and very politically minded. He thought Margaret Thatcher was a great lady; there are many who disagree, but your Grandpa was adamant. I bought him a Maggie Thatcher nut cracker one Christmas. He thought it hilarious, heehee! He instilled in me an abhorrence of improper use of grammar and punctuation; if I tell you that "it's bored with, not of" or "it's should have, not of", you've got your Grandpa to thank for that! Thank him I do. There's no excuse! I remember watching University Challenge on television with him. He loved when Jeremy Paxman was rude to the contestants. I thought it was mean, but looking back it was pretty funny. I will never forget when he phoned me up to ask me the meaning of "chav" and "bling". You will grow up with these terms, but to your Grandpa they were whole new concepts.

It was a confusing time for me when my Mum (your Nanna) & Peter got married. I was 11 then. Dad had left and I didn't see him very much and then there was this strange man that came to live with us. I don't have many memories of that time if I'm honest. I do remember being a bloody awful teenager, but Peter took it all in his stride and I respect him immensely for that. It can't have been easy dealing with an emotional & hormonal teenage girl that wasn't his actual daughter. I apologised for my behaviour a few years ago, which I know he appreciated.

I learned a lot about him at his funeral from people I've never met. He had a whole life I knew nothing about before I met him. I knew that he was a salesman for much of his life. I knew he worked for Rothman's (a tobacco company) and that he was also a Freeman of the City Of London. The thing that struck me most about the funeral was how much people respected your Grandpa. There was no denying his headstrong nature, but this fierce determination was seen in a positive light and as an admirable quality. I learned that he was a good man to work for and an even better person to have on your side. People valued his opinion a great deal and he was widely well though of. The sheer number of people who came to pay their respects to him is testament to all these things.

He loved this picture because he could claim my hair as his!

Having lived in a residential home, age and illness are things I suppose I'm used to. Finding out that your Grandpa was so poorly was strange for me. What was stranger was, as his condition progressed, seeing him progress with it. The residents at the home were all quite old and in need of care when they arrived, but Peter? No. Peter was not the kind of person with whom requiring care sat easily. Of course he accepted it with good grace. I helped him into his pyjamas so he could go to bed one afternoon and he was so incredibly grateful. His gratitude extended to all of his carers: his nurses, Nanna and Eva and even on occasion Auntie Denny, even if he didn't show it all of the time.

I can remember now as clearly as if it were yesterday the afternoon of 3rd November 2010 when your Nanna phoned me to say she had the paramedics come to take him to hospital because he had yet another infection. She was so mad with his doctor for thinking she was fussing. She knew then that he was going. I guess, because my Nanna lived to 98 and liked to keep us on our toes shall I say, that I thought she was overreacting and he'd pull through. I remember later on that evening she phoned me to tell me he didn't have long. I spoke to him on the phone and told him how much I loved him and how grateful I was for everything he had done for me. He didn't say anything because he couldn't. I rushed to get ready and drive to the hospital so I could say goodbye properly. I remember stepping out of the shower and your Daddy coming in with the phone in his hand. I was too late. He'd just had enough. Enough of hospitals and doctors and medication, of not being able to breathe easily, of being poked, prodded and injected. Can you blame him?

Learning of the death of a parent is something that cannot be described, so I'm not even going to try. I know death is a part of life and not to be feared, but that doesn't stop the pain when you lose someone so utterly significant.

In France with Nanna, 2010

What to say now? I've said all I can; a few things that make me smile when I remember them and some things that will hopefully help you know a little about your Grandpa's character. I shall close with the words of a family friend, received in a card of condolence, because it is far more eloquent than anything I could write.

"His was a life with much to celebrate, not least his passion for living every moment to the full. Very much a man of his generation, kind, considerate and a true gentleman, but eventually undone by the shadows of his working life. He will be greatly missed."

Love and so much more

Mummy
xxx