Early Grandfather

My grandfather is acting queer, what should I do?

I am an orphan, and have no other relatives but my grandfather. He keeps an antic shop, and we are really poor.
He goes out every night somewhere, and returns in the early hours.
He neglects his shop, and we are getting poorer and poorer every day. He has some strange dealing with Mr Quilp. And, though we are poor, he constantly says things like 'you will be rich one of these days, and a fine lady".
What does it all mean?

Nell, it means you're in trouble. I foresee a seemingly endless journey in your near future. Quilp is, to understate the case, a bad man and one to be avoided. Remember: he has a wife and is trying to groom you to be his next one.

 

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Who Was My Grandfather?

Who was my grandfather?

"Did I imagine it or was it really my grandfather coming to visit us?"... I was in hospital overseeing to the treatment my father was undergoing. Although his condition was not good, I still expected him to pull through with flying colours! He was not really an old man on his last legs, just somebody trying to cope with life after finding himself on his own...once again. Throughout my adult life and into early middle age, I often saw my dad battling to form meaningful relationships with women. They would come and look after him until his over powering temper would get in the way. Eventually they would leave, despite the enormous charisma he exuded whilst in a sober state.

He had learned to basically fend for himself these past few years, preparing his own meals and keeping his place in a tidy-ish state. He didn't want people coming in to fix his stuff, unless of course, he felt physically attracted to them!

Now, with his inner spark dampened somewhat, his will to live seemed compromised. As I sat by his bedside, I could see his face tinged with sadness. Did he want to continue to live or was it time to join my long deceased mother in the ‘other' world. I remember these last few months fondly, when he would lovingly talk of her, of her exquisite beauty, of how admirers would often exchange intimate expressions with her. She was a beauty alright, I could tell by the pictures around the house that he lovingly treasured. Of course she died when I was a wee one, but his love for her seemed to grow with the passing years. That was probably why he had taken up drinking so much, and why the women he later involved himself with, were more of a physical attraction to him, rather than of a true love like my mother. Whatever the reasons, the women in his life always felt the need to ‘move on.' Who could blame them, when my father blatantly refused to take down his precious pictures of my mother? I tried to tell him this, but he didn't seem to care. She was his life and now it seemed he wanted to return to her.

The message had gone out to our small family about the state that my father was in, and except for an uncle and an aunt on my dad's side, contact was extremely limited. I was his world during these past few years, when he really needed my support. You see, I had been fostered out to another family when my mother died and despite the despair and trauma of living with strangers I had always longed to be reunited with my dad. Now, it was time to make up for all the special moments we had missed together.

...It was in a quiet moment during visiting hours when I noticed a face that seemed very familiar to me. There was a tinge of red in this elderly gentleman's beard that caught my attention. It was similar to my dad's beard when he grew one and it also reminded me of my own.

As I caught notice of this elderly gentleman, he shied his head away from me, making sure not to make eye contact. Then in a split second he was gone - almost a figment of my imagination. A flash went through my mind as I thought of the grandfather I never had. In fact throughout my life I had never seen a picture of him, never, and he was never spoken of by my father or by my uncle and aunt.

I would often think in my younger days "if there was anybody out there in the world who didn't have a grandfather?" My mother's father died as a young man and so I never experienced being bounced up and down on my grand dad's knee and presented with sweets. I would always hear other children call out "grandfather" or more appropriately "grand dad," but I never had that privilege myself.

A sudden thought came to me as the old man disappeared. Was that my grandfather? Was he coming to check out his son as he lay on his potential deathbed? My mind went into a whirl as I conjured up images of my grandfather. Suddenly I had an impulse to run after him. And then, at the hospital exit, I thought I caught a glimpse of him as he sped away in a car driven by a youngish woman.

Later that evening as my dad opened his eyes for a short period of time, I asked him about my grandfather? Was he still alive and what had happened to him? My dad motioned to the side cabinet for a drink as he prepared to clear his drying throat. In a soft voice he said "I have made contact with your grandfather for the first time in 40 years. Uncle Gene told me where he lives and so I decided to write to him, telling of my wish to see him again. It is very likely that the man you saw is your grandfather!" With those last words he slowly put his strained head to the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

It is now a week after I have put my father to rest. He lies in a plot under a big gum tree with the birds singing away. I am sure he is doing his own singing now in the company of my mother. The tears stream down my cheeks when I think of all the time we missed with each other through the years, but I was glad to be there at his passing, holding his hand and telling him what a great guy he was. It was great to see some of his lady friends there at his funeral. They also knew of his wanting to be re-united with my mum, but they all said what a caring man he was to them all, especially when he was sober!

Despite an invitation, my grandfather never showed up at my dad's funeral. It seemed such a pity, but it only propelled me to locate the whereabouts of my long, lost grandfather.

I had an address that Uncle Gene insisted did not come from him. I was to deny all knowledge of how I came about this address. Anyway, I found myself on a remote coastline away from all civilization it appeared. Tiny one car width roads brought me towards a sea-side village overlooking the incredible expanse of limitless, bottomless ocean. The address I had was of the local post office and it was here that I was to enquire into the whereabouts of my long, lost grandfather - David Wilson - the same name as my father and the same as mine, except I am called John David Wilson.

I could barely understand the strange accent that emanated from the mouth of the post master general. He must have been nearly 70 but the steely look in his eyes told me he was ‘all there.' "Take the path down to the beach and walk towards the rocky faces that you see in the distance. David Wilson, he lives about one mile from here, you can't miss it! You'll see a staircase leading from the beach up to his place."

The tide was way out as I strode along the clear sands towards the rocky cliff faces. There were tiny ‘white horses' way in the distance, indicating the shallowness of the water. It was such an invigorating walk after the trials of the previous weeks.

Sure enough, as the post master general had said, steps led up to a craggy house overlooking the expanses of the sea. Did my grandfather really live here? There was excitement inside of me as I drew towards the staircase.

As I sat down before preparing to climb, a strange feeling overcame me. I saw in my mind a scene of an elderly man falling to the ground - literally where I sat! He appeared to be having trouble breathing and his hands were clutching his upper chest. His face appeared to turn blue and he was crying out for help. I could hear the words he muttered "Julie, Julie," as he fell to the ground, his cries for help slowly becoming fainter. Above the staircase, a youngish woman in her 40s appeared. She looked frantic as she descended the stairs, her voice screeching loudly.

She was too late! All the mouth to mouth resuscitation had no effect. The old boy's face radiated peace as Julie held him in her arms whilst sobbing uncontrollably. Soon, some young people followed down the staircase, looks of despair evident on all of their faces. Eventually they all surrounded the body and embraced it with a passion. A calmness soon came to them all and then a nervous laughter of disbelief brought it all to a close.

I was shocked to have witnessed this scene replayed in my mind at the exact place of its unfolding. I now prepared myself for the inevitable news that I would receive when I knocked at the door of that craggy looking building. My grandfather was dead! I was too late! He was now with my father and mother making their peace and making up for lost time. What a pity that we could not talk to each other. All this went through my mind as I solidly knocked on the front door.

The lady who opened the door was Julie, she didn't mention her name but I ‘saw' her during the replayed scene on the beach. As she was about to talk to me, another youngster that I had also ‘seen' before, spoke. "Julie," he said, "you've left the fish on the cooker." Startled, she excused herself as I peered into a room that was like a museum. There were pictures every where on the wall, especially of my father as a younger man and also of my grandfather with all the people in the house. Was this his family I thought to myself? At that moment Julie returned, fried fish in hand about to serve the youngsters lunch.

"Hello" I said, "my name is John Wilson and I have come to see my grandfather." At that moment tears strolled down Julie's face and she began to cower as if trying to hold back enormous emotions. I felt drawn to immediately console this ‘stranger,' although I knew that we were all related.

"Thank you" she said, as she gathered herself. "You are too late! My husband died just a few days ago and we are all trying to come to terms with it as you may have noticed." At that moment the youngsters at the table were openly displaying their emotions. There was much sobbing, with streams of tears rolling down young cheeks.

"I am sorry to meet you all under such distressing circumstances" I said, "but I have waited a lifetime to see my grandfather." As I said this, emotions began to roll within me as well. All the years of pretending to be strong and coping with family disappointments were just...melting away. I felt my upper lip tremble and then a streaming of tears. I was joining in on the act and yet it felt comfortable to share with people who were really family.

That one fish soon turned into 8 as we all sat at the table having lunch. As I looked around at the now welcoming faces, I could see the resemblance of the family in each one of them. There was Tommy - very much like my Uncle Gene, Kathy with her strong jaw and familiar family nose, little Jake with his silky blond hair that I had as a youngster, Mary Lou with her incredibly erect posture just like Aunt Holly. Then there was Pete and Leah beautiful in their innocence.

It may have seemed that I was a little over the top in my assessment of family members, but why not? This was a time to celebrate. I had found my new family and what a wonderful feeling it was!

Walter Kocken

October 1 2008

E-mail: walt62@talktalk.net

About the Author

First screening for assessment.