‹ Prequel: Simple Memory I
Simple Memory II
Motorways
So, when I was younger my Granddad would always come to visit us every Christmas.
I was his only grandchild.
My mum said he always treated me like a princess, like the sun shone out of my arse.
He was the best Granddad a girl could ask for.
He wasn’t one of those Granddads who would just sit there and talk about the good old days.
No.
He would never complain about himself or think about things from the past and constantly tell stories.
No.
He was a special man.
My Granddad would take me out wherever I wanted.
One of my fondest memories of him were our simple trips to the bridge above the motorway.
We use to stand there for hours talking about anything that came to our minds as we watched the traffic below us, and on occasion waving to the lorries driving below whom would push their horn making a strong echo throughout our streets.
My Granddad brought me my first bike when I was 3, I remember getting it at Christmas at my Nan’s.
They were no longer together as my Nan had a new husband, but they still remained friends.
My Granddad taught me to ride the bike he brought me as well, and when I was 5 my Step-dad took the safety wheels off and I was able to ride it on my own. Though by then the bike got a little too small for me.
But as the years went by at Christmas my Granddad would drive all the way down from Sheffield in his old land rover to come see us and have dinner.
Though when I started high school, he fell ill with Cancer.
It was the worst time of my life.
I hated seeing my Granddad stuck in the hospital bed looking out the window.
Though the amazing thing was, we never found out he had cancer until he died.
He had told the nurses and doctors not to tell us.
The last time I had a chance to see him I didn’t go.
I was meeting my friends in town.
And on that night he died.
Guilt has overtaken most of my life when I think of my Granddad. I always think if I went to see him that night would he have lived for a bit longer… or maybe even pulled through.
My Granddad meant and still means the world to me.
I still own 2 of his possessions.
One, his walking stick, its sitting by my bed as I type this and I will always have it, even when I move into my own home.
The other, his favourite jumper. Whenever I wear it on the cold winter nights I feel like he’s holding me keeping me warm.
My Granddad was the best man in my life, he still is.
I’ll never forget him.
I’ll never neglect his grave.
I’ll never think of him as a negative.
My Granddad, the best man in the world.
I was his only grandchild.
My mum said he always treated me like a princess, like the sun shone out of my arse.
He was the best Granddad a girl could ask for.
He wasn’t one of those Granddads who would just sit there and talk about the good old days.
No.
He would never complain about himself or think about things from the past and constantly tell stories.
No.
He was a special man.
My Granddad would take me out wherever I wanted.
One of my fondest memories of him were our simple trips to the bridge above the motorway.
We use to stand there for hours talking about anything that came to our minds as we watched the traffic below us, and on occasion waving to the lorries driving below whom would push their horn making a strong echo throughout our streets.
My Granddad brought me my first bike when I was 3, I remember getting it at Christmas at my Nan’s.
They were no longer together as my Nan had a new husband, but they still remained friends.
My Granddad taught me to ride the bike he brought me as well, and when I was 5 my Step-dad took the safety wheels off and I was able to ride it on my own. Though by then the bike got a little too small for me.
But as the years went by at Christmas my Granddad would drive all the way down from Sheffield in his old land rover to come see us and have dinner.
Though when I started high school, he fell ill with Cancer.
It was the worst time of my life.
I hated seeing my Granddad stuck in the hospital bed looking out the window.
Though the amazing thing was, we never found out he had cancer until he died.
He had told the nurses and doctors not to tell us.
The last time I had a chance to see him I didn’t go.
I was meeting my friends in town.
And on that night he died.
Guilt has overtaken most of my life when I think of my Granddad. I always think if I went to see him that night would he have lived for a bit longer… or maybe even pulled through.
My Granddad meant and still means the world to me.
I still own 2 of his possessions.
One, his walking stick, its sitting by my bed as I type this and I will always have it, even when I move into my own home.
The other, his favourite jumper. Whenever I wear it on the cold winter nights I feel like he’s holding me keeping me warm.
My Granddad was the best man in my life, he still is.
I’ll never forget him.
I’ll never neglect his grave.
I’ll never think of him as a negative.
My Granddad, the best man in the world.