Grandad

Grandad would take my us beach combing along the sand dunes of the Southern Ocean. In front of a handful of others, we watched a motorcyclist somersault off a cliff, land and leave only tracks, which the water washed away, no record. 

A month ago, he had a stroke, was sent home from the hospital, had a fall and broke his hip. He was sent home again, in so much pain.  I'd never seen him confined to a bed. We opened the curtains to let in light, set up his favourite CD and waited.

My grandfather grew up in an orphanage. and age 14 and started working life in the Depression on a remote farm on the Eyre Peninsula as bed and breakfast unpaid labour. When the farmers relocated to Yankalilla, he cycled through the night to Walkerville where a school friends family took him in and their home was his, they found him a job and each day he cycled up Port Road. He won swimming races at the Gilberton Swim Club. By 20 he was in Papua New Guinea with RAAF. In Geelong, he met my Nana, watching a building burn.  After the war he laboured on a farm allotment which couldn’t support a family. By necessity, he made everything with his own two hands. His stoicism survived adversity for 92 years. I never imagined life without him. 

On this long weekend, Mum called to say Grandad had passed away, and she was with him.