My Grandad was destined to die for as long as I can remember.
But, despite all odds, he kept surviving.

I remember one summer, he took me to the beach.
He turned to me and stated, “Did you know I’m actually not meant to drive?”.

He was a tease, I was a solemn child. I grabbed the seatbelt tightly, in my unconscious horror. I didn’t think he had seen, but he let out a chuckle. I always thought he patted my head in that moment. But obviously, he didn’t. He was driving.

I sat on a bench overlooking the sea. Some would have considered it serene. My tiny attention span, however, didn’t appreciate the view of the pebble beach. Instead my gaze flitted between the shells on the ground, the great grassy cliff that towered above, and my Grandad as he approached the bench with two slightly melted ice-creams.

“Who’s the second ice-cream for?” I asked Grandad, as he settled into the seat next to me.

“Me! Why? Do you want me to eat yours too?” I shook my head fervently. He smiled, sticking his tongue out and taking a massive lick of his ice-cream, “It’s just a small one. Don’t tell Grandma.”

It was our sworn secret. I vowed never to tell anyone. And I didn’t. Until that evening, in the car ride home, when I cracked and told my parents.

We sat, talking about all kinds of unimportant things. About what I wanted to be when I grew up; about the different types of dogs we liked; about what we planned to do in the garden later. All the things that are life or death in a child’s small world.

My Mum had told me that Grandad’s mind worked backwards. He could remember things that were far away, but had trouble remembering what was right in front of him.

Towards the end of his life, I started to wondered if he wasn’t backwards. That, maybe, he wasn’t confused at all. He was where he preferred to be, in his
Memories. That, maybe, he would see forwards, into the future. To a world without him. And, maybe, it wasn’t a world he wanted to know.

“Grandad?” I asked, eating my dribbling ice-cream, “Why do you live in your memories instead of here?”

He pondered thoughtfully for a moment, “Why would you want to live in yours?” As a child, who barely had a memory of yesterday, this stumped me.

“Well,” he prompts, with a soft smile, “Any ideas?”

“None.” I say weakly.

We sit, silently, staring at the unmoving ocean. Everything else in the world seems so small. He takes my hands and gives them a comforting pat. There’s an unspoken solidarity, knowing we’re both where we would prefer to be. A world with him. Even if it’s a memory.

My Grandad, like every other human on the planet, was a person destined to die. But, despite death, he keeps living.

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