Well the second task I have been set was to write no more than 500 words on a relative who is no longer around. This is the hardest thing as I wrote about my grandfather who died a few years ago, 500 words were not enough to write everything I wanted to say about him but hopefully this tells you something about him. It also took so long because I had to recover from crying when I though about all the things he did for my family and also when he died. In fact just writing this introduction is hard enough. Although this is a subject that is close to my heart I still want honest opinions about how well (or not) it is written.
Everybody called you ‘Mo’ I always thought that was your name but as I got older I heard people call you Harry, then it struck me that Mo couldn’t have been your name for it was too like your surname. Of course, that’s what it was, an abbreviation of your last name used as a nickname. It wasn’t until you died, however, that I found out your name was Henry. I wasn’t the only person confused by this because the people who lived with you had your name added to the prayer list at the church unfortunately, not knowing you that well, they wrote it down as ‘Harold’!
You were not shy about telling people what you thought, this makes you sound mean and unfriendly but nothing could be further from the truth, when I look back I have only memories of a man who would do anything for his family. My earliest memory is when I was three, sitting on your knee with a blue bicycle in front of me that you had bought. I rode that bike until one of the stabilisers fell off and then I carried on riding it in a very wobbly fashion until its twin was also taken off.
When I applied to University I looked at places far from home eager to explore, to fill up my choices I added a course at home to my application, but after visiting six different departments I realised I liked the structure of course in my hometown. August came and my place was confirmed, not long after that my Mother told me that you had been so worried about me moving away that you had not been able to sleep until you knew I would be studying where you could help me if I was ever in danger. It was that closeness that made me never want to disappoint you, it was you and not my parents who I hid my piercings and tattoos from and when I left University for a year I never told you afraid that you would lose sleep again. When I carried on with my studies I also worked in the evenings so I didn’t get to see you a lot, I visited one Sunday with my parents and I found out you had been having chest pains but you wouldn’t see a doctor, when you complained that I didn’t visit enough I told you I would return when you had been to the doctors. While I visited friends you had a heart attack, I was the first person you asked for when you woke up at hospital as you had ‘seen a doctor now’. I visited as often as I could but work got in the way, I handed in my notice and went away for the weekend and when I got back you had died. I hadn’t seen you for two months and I never got to say goodbye. I am sorry.
Everybody called you ‘Mo’ I always thought that was your name but as I got older I heard people call you Harry, then it struck me that Mo couldn’t have been your name for it was too like your surname. Of course, that’s what it was, an abbreviation of your last name used as a nickname. It wasn’t until you died, however, that I found out your name was Henry. I wasn’t the only person confused by this because the people who lived with you had your name added to the prayer list at the church unfortunately, not knowing you that well, they wrote it down as ‘Harold’!
You were not shy about telling people what you thought, this makes you sound mean and unfriendly but nothing could be further from the truth, when I look back I have only memories of a man who would do anything for his family. My earliest memory is when I was three, sitting on your knee with a blue bicycle in front of me that you had bought. I rode that bike until one of the stabilisers fell off and then I carried on riding it in a very wobbly fashion until its twin was also taken off.
When I applied to University I looked at places far from home eager to explore, to fill up my choices I added a course at home to my application, but after visiting six different departments I realised I liked the structure of course in my hometown. August came and my place was confirmed, not long after that my Mother told me that you had been so worried about me moving away that you had not been able to sleep until you knew I would be studying where you could help me if I was ever in danger. It was that closeness that made me never want to disappoint you, it was you and not my parents who I hid my piercings and tattoos from and when I left University for a year I never told you afraid that you would lose sleep again. When I carried on with my studies I also worked in the evenings so I didn’t get to see you a lot, I visited one Sunday with my parents and I found out you had been having chest pains but you wouldn’t see a doctor, when you complained that I didn’t visit enough I told you I would return when you had been to the doctors. While I visited friends you had a heart attack, I was the first person you asked for when you woke up at hospital as you had ‘seen a doctor now’. I visited as often as I could but work got in the way, I handed in my notice and went away for the weekend and when I got back you had died. I hadn’t seen you for two months and I never got to say goodbye. I am sorry.
Labels: creative writing, family, Memories of a great man, tears
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