Mo Dhaideó

Today is my Grandfathers birthday. It is just over 6 years since he died, almost a year to the day after my Grandmother closed her bright eyes for the last time.

I think about them every so often, ever more since a realisation about 18 months ago that I really was no longer a child. I remember more of my Daideó than of my Mamó. There is no hidden meaning in this, I just remember more significant time spent with him at a very formative age, but then again there are moments when I remember her so clearly. I am so proud of both of them, even as a child before I knew some of the tribulations they both had, and of the obvious challenges they had in life; I was proud of them.

I am going to write about them here, in the next few days. But I want to get it all right, and for that I need more then just my memories. My mother posted a facebook status( yes my mother is on facebook and yes it means I sometimes censor things) about them and it reminded me. No matter where I go, what I do - I will always remember the house where the real front door was the back door, the garden that when I was small seemed miles long, the moped and postcards from Italy. I will never forget watching birds,seeing old things, the certain chair, trips to Islands that seemed like they were other worlds and a wonderful incident (which is still funny and probably my only real description of irony) when my daideó was grumpy at the noise in the kitchen and asked for the news to be turned up, despite the fact it was the second time he was watching it, and it was the news for the deaf.

I have 3 siblings, and each one of them is smarter and more talented than me in ways I can never describe properly, and I wish my Mamó and Daideó could see us all now.