I wanted to speak a little about my granda (or grandfather) George, my mothers father.
Growing up, Granda George was a huge huge presence in my life. My ma comes from a big family, six kids in all, and all of them married, with kids of their own. Growing up, a family visit to Granda and Nanna's every weekend meant the house was filled with kids and grandkids and even great grandkids. And all of us were completely devoted to my granda as he was to us. As I've grown up, he's remained a 'hero' in my life, despite having passed away several years ago.
My Granda was a devout catholic, a regular church attender who gave of his time to help others also. He had such a heart and love after God that touched and has helped me over the years, certainly an inspiration.
Even after all these years he's remembered by the people who knew him as a good man who was very much liked and loved within the community. I've met people who had only met him once or twice who hold fond memories of the man.
My granda died of cancer, after four years of suffering. In the last two years of his life he could barely speak and was bed ridden in the worse, latter months. What started off as bowel cancer spread to his throat and despite treatment, nothing could be done. It was a dark time for the family yet he never wavered from his faith, from his happy outlook in life and I think it gave my nanna, my ma and the family some strength in the hard times. In the last year or so our communication with him was through a notepad or type of etcha sketch. He still told us jokes, made me laugh and was contented to see his family surrounding him.
When he died I was only eleven and my ma didn't think it a good idea for me to attend the funeral. In a way I'm glad of that, because in not saying an 'official' goodbye, I never felt as if I'd really lost him. I'm not sure if that makes sense to others, but it certainly does to me. Whether I remember him as he carried me over the railway lines to the horse fields opposite the old house, (which looking back on it now was a crazy thing to do, but at the time, sitting atop the giant of a mans shoulders, sugar cubes in hand to feed the ponies, I was oblivious to any danger), collecting worms in a tub as he dug for potatoes, going with him on occasion to mass or in those last few years where our communication was through a notebook I just remember that glint in his eye and the happiness he always seemed to exude.
George was from a working class generation. He and the family had little yet they made the most of what they had. I know he went through a dark time in his faith although I've never really asked about it, I just know he pulled through it. When he was in his early twenties, there was an accident involving his nephew whom he'd been looking ofter. The child fell from the back of a wagon and was killed and my granda went through a very depressive stage. A few weeks later he was walking with my nanna in what has now become the towns shopping centre and an Angel appeared to him. It was a great vision and testimony that he held onto and spoke about throughout his life. Whether people believe in angels, in people seeing them or not is neither here nor there for me. I believe and know he believed and that what he saw was an amazing experience which helped him through a time in his life when he was wracked with guilt over a young boys death.
Other things happened in his life which would have swayed many from their path. He worked in the shipyards and a terrible accident occurred where he was smashed in the face by a steel beam and lain up in hospital for months. He lost his sense of smell in the process. He went through months of depression after the accident, yet somehow he pulled through. I've no doubt that God's hand was forever guiding him despite how low he felt within his faith.
I think sometimes we can go through those low times where we think 'I'm just so bad, I can't get anywhere in God, I've let my Christian life slip and slide down a long slope. What's the point in trying? ' Yet we probably don't have to look very far to see how God helps people along through those dark times. That no matter how low they get or what comes against them, if they just keep hold of that little bit of faith they have left and put their trust in him they will pull through.
Who are the inspirational people in your life who you can draw strength from, through their faith and their testimonies of what they've gone through and how God gave them strength to carry on?
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