After ten days of new beginnings in West London, I find myself back in my parents home. A few days ago, Eleanor, my grandfather's wife of 22 years, passed away.
Despite all the chaos of last minute transatlanticism, I was so privileged to have been at Eleanor's viewing service last night. The richly bouqueted room stayed packed for much of the evening. They talked and wept and laughed and embraced. They were not mourners, but celebrants.
Jet-lagged me stood and thanked countlessly and remembered the things that signified: Eleanor when I was younger. Cinnamon Toast Crunch, SpaghettiOs, and Ducktails.
2 comments:
I'm sorry, Evan. It's good to hear you have nice memories of her. Grandmothers are precious.
Good to hear from both of you.Yes I made it back and am currently triumphant at finally breaking through the seemingly inpenetrable beauracracy of UCL's Information Services. 'and i'm boring myself just talking about it..'
Post a Comment