David Vance SubstackRead More
I’ll never forget the 23rd November 1996. It was the worst day of my life.
It was on that day, that my Grandmother Sarah Jane Vance died, aged 90.
She was the most important person to me when I was growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s and right up until 1996 I still looked to her for common sense and reason, characteristics some may say that I somewhat lack! She was the most balanced person I have ever met and did not have an unkind bone in her body.
Her health declined in the final few years of her life but she remained mentally alert if physically frail and I was able to present her with two grandchildren in those precious final years. She and I also got along so well and I suppose I was seen as her favourite although that may be unfair to her.
The phone call came around 6.30am, It was my Dad. He whispered. “My mother is dead” I knew it was going to be bad news as you tend not to get early morning phone calls with cheerful news. But I was still devastated. Really devastated.
Come the day of the funeral, along with others I carried the coffin into and out of the little country church pictured above. I gripped the handle of the coffin with such force that I cut my hand wide open. I was unaware of this until my wife pointed out that I was dripping blood. She gave me a large handkerchief and I wrapped it tight to stop the flow.
I didn’t say anything at the service, I did’t trust myself. The emotional turmoil was just soo much so I sat silently as the Minister said his words. He got some details wrong, which annoyed the hell out of me. But I suppose we all make mistakes.
I remember the interment at the graveside on that grey November day.
This was what broken-hearted felt like.
I couldn’t believe she was gone.
No more little chats. No more bringing around my kids to see her. No more nothing.
Except one thing.
About a week later, I was out working on something in the garage and I had this odd moment when I thought she was there. Her presence felt real and reassuring. Was it wishful thinking? Dunno, but I never forget that and it is almost 30 years ago now.
But of course time is a great healer and memories can grow sharper. Mine have.
At the time, my Christian faith didn’t really help me that much. I used to look up into the night sky and wonder where she was. Where had she gone?
Then I realised. She was in me.
And she always will be.
