The things that you want to blog about but don't want to blog about but don't know so you start anyway to see what happens

I figure I can do this now, then post another one straight after so at least it will be pushed down a bit.

The first time I was enrolled at uni, I switched to part time in my third year and took up waitressing parttime to break my 3 month long unemployment habit. Then I dropped out of uni entirely and took up waitressing fulltime. Whilst this proddly was not one of my best career moves ever, it was something that I think needed to be done - going straight from school to uni is not always succesful from what I've seen - my littlest bro is going through this at the moment - but he cleverly only went 1 semester into his degree before 'the big pause' rather than 2.25 years into it.

During this time, my dad told me that my Pa (his dad) was in a bit of depression. Pa was born in 1910, so he was well into his 90's at this stage, and he was getting upset about life in general - all his friends were dying, he coudn't do as much as he wanted to and then they went and closed the club in Queanbeyan where he went for his only weekly outing for the meat raffles.

When my Nana died (his wife) about 15 years earlier, my Aunty moved in to care for him. She was the one who communicated to my Dad that he was crying and losing weight and not feeling all that crash hot and a lot of it seemed to be boredome and lonliness. So I started to come in each week for a visit.

At first it was kinda awkward - I was never really that close to my grandparents and I was really grateful for my Aunties presence as she was a little easier to talk to. I'd tell him about my work and talk about the family and brough him in some pancakes to show him what they were like. As time went on I also occasionally brought him in some KFC and some McDonalds - things that he'd never tried due to his stubborness that lunch always had and always would be roast meat and veg, with icecream and jelly for dessert (He loved the KFC btw, and gave thumbs down to the Big Mac).

Over the years it got easier and easier to talk to him. Although his memory was getting pretty shot, it was never difficult to talk to him and I always had a great time talking to him. It also started that my Aunty would bother me more - the visits to him would be overshadowed by her talking about her knees, about her lunch down at the hotel something-or-other, what her friends were doing, her weight etc etc. It wasn't like I started to resent her or anything, but more that she became a bit of a joke - when I'd go back to my parents to talk to them about my visit, you'd always talk up her annoyingness. She'd talk about her life all the time and would get frustrated at him when he started to tell his long stories or didn't have his hearing aid up loud enough and you'd just want her to stop trying to make it all about her.

This last year or two my visits were getting less and less frequent. Work started to get busier, I had more and more 'Extra-carricular" activities, and his poor immune system meant that any symptoms of flu or cold meant that you couldn't go in. The last few months in particular, with exams and martial arts I hadn't been in for about three weeks. The plan was to stop past on Saturday to take in some lanolin night cream my aunty had urgently requested at 7:30am a month or so ao.

For years and years when you'd visit him and ask how he was, you'd always get a 'only just' as a response. He'd always say he was ready to go and on the edge. But these last few months he'd been really well, the life of the party (albeit at his brothers funeral), he'd finally got his new teeth, got a new fence put up and the garden was going well - he'd just put in the tomatoes. My Dad and brother were in there Thursday night and he may well have asked where I was, asking if I'd 'given him away' as he often said when I hadn't been in for a while.

Friday at 4:40 my dad called to tell me that he'd died. The carer had left the house at 2 and my aunty returned at 3:30 after Christmas shopping. Fridays were her 'days off' when she could 'get away' for a few hours. The oven was shifted and he was on the floor - he'd either had a stroke or a fall and hit the oven on his way down when he shuffled into the kitchen to wash the cups from the tea he'd shared with the carer.

In her 'state' she called my 20 year old brother at home, to tell him to tell my dad (he was also the one who had to tell my dad after I got hit by a car).

I don't know where to go with this - my usual way of dealing is not to think about it - so I may be a little dodgly this upcoming week - there's a viewing on Wednesay and Funeral on Thursday. There's just these moments where you realise the things you were still waiting to do - to show him my new house, to cook him a roast (after I'd made my first one and it was fairly succesful), to show him my grading video, to get to know more about him...

And to see my aunty all in tears in the loungeroom begging me not to stop coming in now that he's gone and only feeling frustrated.