It was 27 years ago today that my Grandfather (Poppy as he was named by one of my older cousins) passed away. If I recall correctly it was due to heart trouble related to Rhuematic Fever as a child – but then it could have just been old age. I remember my dad and I flying, in a small plane my dad owned, many times to visit both my Poppy and my Grandmother, Nonny.
I was 13 and half years old (almost to the day) when Poppy passed away. I don’t recall much about his death or the time surrounding it. I remember standing at the gravesite, unable to shed a tear. Just silent, watching. Inside I was sad, I was crying – But on the outside there was nothing. I just couldn’t cry or show any emotion. I remember my step mother berating me afterwards because I wasn’t crying & carrying on – Telling me that I didn’t love my grandfather, that I didn’t care. Even then I couldn’t help but think that what she was saying was stupid. I loved my grandfather a great deal and just because I wasn’t crying and carrying on didn’t mean that I felt nothing inside.