Granddad Clark

Granddad – My Special Friend

I was living in the UK doing my OE when my Granddad started doing strange things, things like walking off in a daydream not knowing where he was or even who he was, let alone where he lived. It was a sad fact that he was starting to suffer from Alzheimer’s, a horrible disease a bit like dementia and I believe it’s not openly diagnosed or recognised until it’s in the quite late stages. Bit too late by then for most people …….

It was very hard being in another country and listening to family talk about what was going on and how he was suffering, and how my Nan was managing to keep her chin up and herself going (I have no idea how she coped but she did), and then eventually having to accept the fact that she could not deal with it, or Granddad any more. Heartbreakingly, having to put him into a home – luckily very close to her for as long as possible, until the Alzheimer’s had advanced so much even they could not cope with him (lacking in facilities), and more heartache in having to put in a home which was around 45mins drive away – good for Granddad though as he had 24 hour round the clock care which he needed. Hard for Nan as she no longer drove and had to rely on other people to drive her to and fro once a week to visit her handsome husband ……

Both my Mum’s parents meant the world to me, they were like surrogate parents really, especially Granddad as he took on a “fatherly” role to me after my parents split when I was around 4 years old. They say family splits don’t affect the kids – how wrong is that. I’m just grateful that my Mum was so close to her parents, and they were such wonderful supportive people to her.

In 1997 I had plans to come home to NZ for Xmas, knowing that it was highly likely the last time I would see my Grandfather alive. My family kindly omitted to tell me how bad he had got … mainly to protect me and not to scaremonger me either. Anyway, I was scheduled to arrive home early in December and time was racing away, December getting closer and closer …… getting excited about coming home. I think it was the 11th December when I eventually left the UK bound for NZ, and arrived on the 12th 24 hours later …. Totally shattered and jetlagged, got off the plane, collect my duty free (couldn’t miss that!) and baggage then finally through the baggage hall and customs, was duly greeted by Mum and I think my sister was there too.



After loading up mum’s car and cruising back to her house (locally thank goodness), they gave me the news that Granddad had had a turn and was in quite bad shape. I decided then and there to have a shower, get changed and go straight to see him …. After 3 or so hours our car journey ended, we finally made it to the home he was based at in Taupo …. My Nan pulled me aside and whispered in my ear “he’s not the man you left behind”, my reply … “I don’t care, he’s still my Granddad and I want to see him”

What happened next was really weird. Granddad’s vegetative state was a little bit of a shock but I kind of expected it, still a shock though, but I’d also been told he wouldn’t know me from a bar of soap …. HA! So wrong! I stood at his bed, held his hand, and said “hello Granddad, it’s Sam, I’ve come to see you, it’s okay now, I’m here”. He broke out in a sweat, and I could feel him shaking, and I saw his lips try to move, he knew I was there, I could sense it. I could feel his heart racing. It was a sensation that I’ll take to my grave with me, it’s something that I think of often, it brings a smile to my face, as well as tears, to know that he knew that I was there. I let go of his hand, and Nan went to hold his hand and talk to him.

After having a big sob and talking to both Mum and Nan I went back for another chat with Granddad before we left. I remember leaning over him and giving him a cuddle and telling him I loved him. My parting whispered comment to him was “its okay now Granddad, you can let go, you’re safe now, we all love you, you can go now, you can let go” and then gave him a kiss and walked out. That night we all stayed at Nan’s house in Mangakino, and in the morning Mum and I drove back to Auckland. We’d literally been in the house for ten minutes and Nan rang, “he’s gone” she said, “He’s gone”. At that moment, I knew that he had waited for me to come home to him, call it a gut instinct, woman’s intuition or whatever, but in my heart I know that he waited for my to come home and say goodbye. He was a special man and touched lots of lives, especially mine.

My final two comments, firstly - Granddad's favourite number was 13, he died on the 13th December, and secondly - although an english gentleman born and bred, he loved the hot NZ days, the day of his funeral was a scorcher - what a send off for a gentleman.

Goodbye Granddad, rest now, lots of love, Sam xox

A Memory

This article touched my heart:


Although hard to believe, it has been almost nine years since my Grandpa passed away. I've lost other family members before, but none left an impact on my life such as him. He was more than a Grandpa to me, he was a substitute parent and the friend I knew I could always count on.
In the spring of 1999 my family received the devastating news that Grandpa had cancer. I was fifteen years old at the time, but what small amount of child I had left in me begged and pleaded for the fairy tale ending, that my Grandpa was invincible. He had always been in my life, how could that change?
School was almost done for the year and I decided that my place was with him. Immediately following my last class I packed up my things and moved into my Grandparents house.
Looking back on it now I can honestly say that it was the best summer of my life. Although it was the hardest at many moments, I had more smiles and laughter in those nine weeks than I could have hoped for. Maybe it was due to the chilling sadness of the summers surroundings, my mind seemed to burn certain images into memory. I have this perfect recollection of Grandpa sitting on the couch watching the eleven o'clock news, as I walked up beside him holding an old alarm clock he had given me, he turns to see me with his chin ever so slightly pressed downward into his chest in an attempt to peer over his large brown rimmed glasses, and then a smile creeps across his face.
It's one of those smiles that curves right up, making me laugh a little to myself because it almost reminds me of a clown smile, then something tells me he's doing it on purpose. He reaches his hands out to me and I offer him the clock. You see, that clock had always been his and the key on the back that set the alarm was just as stiff as the clock was old. My little fingers just weren't strong enough to turn it, so every night I would go downstairs to my room, get ready for bed, collect the clock and take it to him...because his fingers did have the strength....and every night he would smile at me, take the clock and set the alarm.
I suppose part of me believed that as long as his fingers were strong enough to turn that key, he was strong enough to keep fighting, strong enough to stay with me.
The memory of that night, although only a mere fraction of the time we had spent together, means more to me than words can express. To know the hardship he was enduring through his fight with cancer, that such a simple act could bring such a smile to his face. That in that moment, through the smile we both shared, we were together and we were okay.
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