Towards the end of his life my Grandfather, who I adored, became very ill, leukemia. He was 76 and spent the last days of his life in a hospital bed. He’d survived WWII, a tank reclamation officer. He and his colleagues went back over enemy lines to try and get broken down and damaged tanks back for repair. He wouldn’t talk about it any more than that and I can only imagine some of the horrors he must have seen. When he returned from the war he went down the mines, as most people from that part of South Wales tended to have to do. A shaft collapsed, he survived, but left one of his legs behind. It didn’t affect him that much, he had to work above ground, but he still did 50 sit ups, 50 press ups and, surprisingly, 50 star jumps (with his prosthetic on) every morning, until he was 74. He was a strong man, who loved life. I remember him getting into a fight in the pub in his late 60’s, against a 20 year old, the 20 year old didn’t stand a chance.
The reason I’m telling you this is because the scene with
Angel, his exit, reminds me of the Grandfathers final moments. He couldn’t speak but wanted to tell his children something, so they hurriedly found a piece of cardboard, torn off a box, and a pen. On it he wrote, “The End”, and then he died.
Very few of us get to go out in a blaze of glory, the most we can really hope for is a little dignity.
Bookmarks