I’ve been bottling this up for months.
Ages ago, my mom told me my Granddad would most likely be coming to the UK. He’s a reverend, and has a convention here in the UK where they want to honor him.
He’s pretty “high up there” in the church circles, both in the UK and in Jamaica.
In March/April 2008, The Mr, myself, and 3 month old Noah flew over to meet him and my “Aunty Vie”. She’s my grandmother in law by marriage, adopted the title Aunty since I just couldn’t comprehend having a “replacement granny”. She’s not a replacement, but – whatever. It doesn’t matter.
I just remember that, during that visit, I was VERY conscious of how Granddad wasn’t quite as sharp as I’d remembered him for all those years. And hardly surprising, dude was in his early 80s after all. Yeah ok he was still climbing trees, and driving hundreds of miles every week, but still.
In October 2011, I, without My Boys, flew to Jamaica with the rest of my immediate family for a massive and surprise reunion. I wrote about the moment, the surprise moment, and it was one of the hardest posts I ever wrote. I didn’t do it justice.
It was hard to write, because in all honesty, I had flown to Jamaica to say goodbye. As far as I was concerned, I would never see him again, and The Smalls most definitely wouldn’t meet him. He was so tired and frail; in my mind I couldn’t see him lasting another year. Morbidly I spent much of 2012 waiting for That Phonecall. It never came. And then Mom said “he’s coming, with Vie, to the UK.”
Since then, I’ve been smothering a deep, horrible fear. A fear that it wouldn’t happen. I’ve been in straight out, no holds barred, plain old denial. I refused to believe it.
Every time I’ve spoken to Mom, I’ve asked the same words, again and again. “Is he still coming?” And every time, I’ve refused to believe her.
Today, this afternoon, my Granddad landed in the UK.
He’s here, in the UK for approximately 6 weeks.
He will get to meet My Boys.
My memories will be complete.