When I went to work this morning I thought the subject of this evening's blog was going to be the ruddy snow that had decided to fall in March and how it had forced me change my choice of shoe. Then I got a phone call from home to tell me that my Grandad had passed away last night and suddenly I couldn't care less if it was Antarctica outside and I had been forced to wear snowboots. I wasn't sure whether or not to write this given grief isn't the kind of thing you like to share with people but I've become quite accustomed to sharing the ups and (mostly) downs of Parisian life so it seems like the natural thing to do, especially being so far away from everyone. So I guess this is just like my own little tribute to the man who did everything with his family's best interests in mind and who taught Karlos, or Richard as he called him, to do the same.
Grandparents always tell you how proud they are of you, but I was proud to be Alfred Gordon Saunders' granddaughter. Up until recent years you wouldn't have believed he was in his 80s, out digging up the garden or spinning around Rotherham in his impeccable automobile, and he had an incredible mind. He also had a pretty impressive geography of Wednesbury and the Black Country, which is something the rest of our family now possesses after several repeated conversations. But more importantly he was a humble, loving and honourable father, husband, grandad and man, who was respected and loved by us all and who is already missed more than these slightly soppy words can express.
A wonderful friend told me to smile at the memories, so that's what I will do (when laughing doesn't turn to crying), and it's not hard to do when you can think back to being welcomed to Pakistan whilst driving through the outer areas of Sheffield; to having "have you ever seen a dream walking?" sung to you when you came down for breakfast at any time of the day; or to being congratulated for being astute enough to recognise the test he set you when it was blatantly a mistake he was trying to cover up. So I will listen to 'All you need is love" by the Beatles and hear him bra-ba-da-ba-da-ing the trumpet part, taste the hairspray on my tongue from the extreme coiffing before leaving the house and be glad that I had such a fabulous Grandad for the first 21 years of my life.
Un beso muy grande.