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| My uncle Gordon pictured at my mum and dad's wedding in 1972. |
My paternal grandfather died five years before I was born, and my paternal grandmother died three years before. I've always found it sad that they never got to meet me. My mother's father I did get to meet, and do have memories of, but again he died when I was only five and so I was far too young to comprehend the truth of the loss. My mother's mother is still going strong at the grand old age of 93, but the inevitability of old age brings with it the shadow of destiny.
Earlier this month my godfather/ uncle died of lung cancer (and perhaps asbestosis). He had been frail and thin for some time and was in the process of getting help from social services to get domestic assistance, but one morning my dad found him collapsed in his bathroom with what was subsequently labelled a suspected heart attack. This was perhaps brought on by the news the day before that he had stage two lung cancer. Wheels were set in motion to give my godfather as much help as he needed, but sadly within days he had succumbed, and he passed away peacefully in hospital on Tuesday, March 24th.
Among his final words were: "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are green fields." This is a heartbreaking yet oddly comforting epitaph from a man who was, all his life, a fiercely independent bachelor. He was his own man and did his own thing, and was always a loyal godfather to me, even when I saw him far less often in latter years.
He was mad about Egypt and all things Egyptian, ever since he carried out his National Service in Suez in the early 1950s. He never returned to Egypt after leaving the forces, and with that terrible thing called hindsight, maybe we should have arranged for him to do so, because while he spent his final years in England, I think he left a part of him in the Middle East.
Now that he's gone, my focus has been on supporting my dad, his brother. My dad has been tasked with sorting everything out that needs sorting in the wake of the death of a loved one - power of attorney, execution of the will, informing the authorities, liaising with the coroner and funeral director, speaking to bereavement counsellors, and most upsettingly of all, going through my godfather's personal belongings and papers.
It makes me realise just what a mess we leave behind when we go, especially when we go unexpectedly. My godfather did have a will and all his important papers were gathered together in one or two places, but it is the personal stuff which affects those left behind so much. The things that make a name on a death certificate a real human being, the things they loved and saved and cherished.
Among the bills, pension forms, statements and letters was a cutting from the Derby Express of a story I wrote while there on work placement back in the mid-1990s. I don't remember writing that particular story, but I suspect it was either my first, or among my first, bylines as a reporter. My godfather had carefully cut it out and kept it aside. He also had a collection of photographs he'd taken in Suez, and of his family when he was growing up in the 1930s and 40s. It was odd to see my godfather as a young man, on holiday with sunglasses on and a beer, posing with a sombrero and doing all the normal things people do - but in beautiful, otherworldly black and white.
There were also his medals, his conscription papers and the exact address of the camp where he served in Egypt. I went onto the Suez Veterans' Association's website and saw acres of reminiscences from old soldiers, loads of photos and an entire network set up to help people like my godfather reconnect across the decades. But I fear my godfather had no idea about it. He was 83, he didn't need the bother of the internet. He didn't even have a microwave! And I found that sad too. Using that blessed hindsight, I could have let my godfather see all those old pictures and messages from possible colleagues by getting him online somehow. Now that's not possible.
Of course I like to believe that when you're gone, you kind of get to know and see anything you want. Enlightenment, if you like. And that my godfather is somewhere with his old mates reminiscing about old times, probably in a bar in Egypt somewhere, wearing a fez and smoking a big, fat cigar.
A date is yet to be set for my godfather's funeral, but it will be a sad day indeed, both because it brings to an end the life of a very funny, loyal man, and also reminds us all how precious life is, and how we must live each day as fully as we can.
In memory of Gordon Alan Stratford, 1931-2015
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