Poppa whispering into my ear just after I became a Mrs.
David Browne. A good, solid name for a good, solid man.
Yesterday my grandfather suddenly passed away. He had his breakfast but wasn’t interested in any lunch. Just after dinner he slipped away.
My mind keeps running over my memories of Poppa:
Seeing him stride out into the sea for a dip at Philip Island – even on the days no one else was brave enough to put a toe in the icy waters.
Holding his hand in the park on our annual Autumn leaf shuffle.
Him cleaning our house every week to help our family when mum returned to work.
His daily routine of rising at 4 am.
Hearing him crow, “Hello, Love” when I walked through the door.
His shed, oh his shed.
Hands tucked behind the bib of his overalls as he nodded off in his armchair.
Him gazing adoringly at me and saying, ‘I know I’m biased…but geez you’re gorgeous!’
Tightest of tight squeezes.
Today we packed up his room at the nursing home. A lifetime fit neatly into six boxes. A lifetime of devotion, fixing and honest living. A lifetime of utter acceptance, childlike openness and routine. A lifetime of loving, creating and faith.
A lot gets crammed into our days, weeks and years. But at the end of it all, can we say it was a life well lived? A life well lived like David Browne did.
…I love you Poppa