A very lucky boy

It’s 4am and I’m thinking what I should write, especially today.  

Sleep at the moment is a very scary sweaty tearful experience where I cannot close my eyes without having the hallway lights on.   Why?  Well just before 05:30 on the 8th of August and after many months of fighting just about everything my Uncle Con, the lovely old man that he was, passed away after losing his battle with everything that breaks and decays on an aged body.  He was 86.   

The day before I was sitting by his side, holding his hand, clenched lightly between both of mine as I whispered to him about how I had been baking again and that next week we would be making some buns together amongst other memories too personal and important to write.  I felt his soft warmth.  Heard his laboured yet gentle breathing.  Watched his heart beating.  I listened carefully as I watched the occasional movement of his lips as though he was trying to whisper something.  Perhaps he was just dreaming.  I sat quietly with him for a while before crouching over him and told him that I loved him.  I planted a gentle kiss on his forehead and softy whispered “I’ll see you tomorrow”.  I knew that probably would not happen.  I knew the end was near. 

Conrad was born November the 22nd, 1933 - or as he used to say, “all the ones, all the twos and all the threes”.   His childhood was in St Pauls Square, Holgate, York.   Save for regular beltings from my Grandad George (more to write about later) for not doing as he was told he had a happy memorable childhood spending most of the day with his best mate Jim Sandy getting up to things such as apple scrumping or taking the cows from the cattle docks across York to market.  Con left school about age 15 initially working at Terry’s chocolate factory unloading bags of beans for roasting before having his national service in the Netherlands as a Postie.  He came back to the UK and had a young life in Wallasey near Liverpool as a bus driver with a new girlfriend and a new daughter before returning home to Yorkshire living at first back home with my Mum, then after marrying Jean living in an old coaching cottage - Northolme - in Tollerton driving first for North Yorkshire buses then Northern Dairies.  He moved back into York I guess in his late 50’s; first to Rawcliffe then his final move some 10 years or so ago to his last home in Clifton. 

Some 50 years or so ago, my earliest fearful nightmares were of him being stretched out on something akin to a torture rack having his belly cut out - as though watching the removal of a large pork pie from where his belly button might have been.  Even at that earliest of ages he must have had a profound effect on me.  Along with the nightmares of electric fork lightning giants at the back of the house on stormy summer afternoons or of the sky covered with hundreds of aircraft in formation racing to war, or of looking up and seeing the planets and universe crashing down out of the sky as the atmosphere evaporated leaving me unable to breathe, well there was also that nightmare of my uncle Con being hurt.  Oh how that recurring dream frightened me.  I only suffered it as a child but the memory of it is vividly burnt into the deep core stuff.  Many times such nightmares had me scurrying in to my mum and dad’s bedroom crying, desperate to climb into their bed, into the safe warm spot between them.  I am still that child today but as much as I need it I cannot find the same safety, warmth and comfort right now. 

Con finally succumbed to a multitude of problems which he had fought for several years.   Dementia, Diabetes, Heart, Lungs, Kidneys, Gall Bladder, Eyes… etcetera etcetera.   Whether spoken or not, his mantra was “never give up”.  But even with that clearly in his mind the end, when it arrived, could not be stopped.  

 

As my father once said after being asked by my brother about what it was like being 70 , “.. well I’ve got a mind of a 21 year old but my body is broken”.  I guess that is the scary thing. Whilst our minds may stay young, the wear creeps up and builds up over time.  As best as we try to keep a tight hold of our youths, well the march of time and the decay cannot be stopped. 

It’s a blessing that Con passed away in his sleep and without pain.  Nonetheless, I’m heartbroken.  I tell everyone how I feel as I want them to know of my pain.  I find myself guiltily chatting about him.  It’s too soon isn’t it?  Yet I want to tell everyone about everything including my latest memories fearful of the fact that if I do not I might start to forget.  Such moments must not be lost in time like tears in the rain.  So like the cycling I will write about them. 

Con taught me so much throughout my life.  To be happy to see folk, with his “hello Mister!..” ringing in my ears each and every time I entered the house.  Be happy to help folk and don't be afraid to have a go at doing things even if the end result might be a little wonky, “a blind man would be glad to see it…” he would say.  Be happy with life.  

He’s not just left me with many great memories.  Con has left his legacy with me.  

 

Of the many many ways of being a good human being.

I have been a very lucky boy.