Jack (26th May 1918 – 3rd March 2009)

My grandfather died last night. While the photo above might not be the greatest photo ever, it matters to me. It has me, my grandfather and my children. My grandfather suffered dementia for the final few years of his life. I don’t know it he knew who the tiny baby he was holding was, but having his great-grandchildren around seemed to cheer him up. Like at his 90th birthday.

About 5 years ago, when my grandparents conceeded that they were starting to get old (at about 85), they spent a lot of time telling Emily and me about their lives. It was a previledge that they wanted to share that with us while they could still remember and articulate it. I hope that memory doesn’t fade either. My grandfather went to France for a week during the war, before the British troops pulled out of Dunkirk. He drove lorries in the army. His most poignant memory was that the lorry in front of his needed to go further up the road to turn around (the didn’t have reversing lights and it was too dark to reverse it back to the turning point he used) when the order to retreat came through. He didn’t see any of them again. He often wondered what had happened to them, but never found out.

My wife and our kids saw him this weekend. He mostly slept. I didn’t go, because I didn’t want to remember him as a frail old man without a mind. What I want to remember is my grandfather 20 years ago, making stuff in his shed, and gardening, and ruffling my nanny’s ears.The first of those things should be easy enough to remember since my house is full of things he made; a chess table, a cabin bed, my toy castle and toy garage.

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I read this post yesterday about photographing those you love. I’d recommend it to you, but don’t worry about the quality of the photos. The one above means so much to me, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t set everything up perfectly.