My lovely, insane, slightly racist, always funny, dog loving, football supporting, mildly alcoholic Granddad died on Saturday night. Midnight.
I will always remember playing with various dogs, trips with him and my Nan to various parts of the Kent countryside, playing in rivers, hunting butterflies, fishing with pint pots, climbing trees, early weekend walks with the dogs to Maryon Wilson Animal Park.
The lifts to School listening to Radio 5 and Jazz FM. The crazy football trips where he always found someone to befriend. The love that was never outwardly demonstrated. The loud screaming matches with my Nan where me, my brother and ex-police dogs huddled together. Remember growing strawberries, apples and tomatoes in the garden.
Remember how he could never remember my name, or my Brothers.
And sadly I think I will always remember him choking to death slowly and painfully. I was not there for his final moments. I slept exhausted most of Saturday. I did not want, couldn't watch those final moments.
Mother was there. One of her brothers was there and her sister. He knew I had been and that was enough.
Now I need to look after my brother. More revelations have startled and stunned me and I need to find a way to look after him and make things better for him although I don't know how.