My Poppy.

My beloved Poppy was sick all week. He was hospitalised with pneumonia and he just couldn't get better. Last night my Mum called to say that he had been brought home because his body was shutting down. He smiled when she told him he would be going home. I wonder what came to mind when he heard the word home. I wonder if he thought of his childhood home. I wonder if he thought of the house he built in Peakhurst, where he raised his daughters. I wonder if he thought of his sunny verandah with the water view on St Huberts Island (this is where I always picture him looking out over the water). I think it was probably just Nanna that meant home to him. Going home just meant being with the one he loved. He didn't make it through the night.
 I am reflecting on the wonderful things that I love about him. He has had a huge impact on the person I have become and I really, really hope he knew that.
My Poppy is the quiet, strong influence. The sturdy, reliable man who I always knew I could depend on.  No matter how sick and uncomfortable he was over the past few years nobody ever heard him complain...about anything! He was proud of his family and I always knew it. He gave the biggest hugs that squeezed the breath out of you. He had the knack of finding the perfect spot on my knee to squeeze to make it tickle. My Poppy never raised his voice, never drew attention to himself but his presence was always felt. I always knew he was there and that I could rely on him.

I have lots of lovely memories of childhood holidays with my Nanna and Poppy, memories of Poppy popping in for a visit and a chat when Eric and I first moved out on our own, memories of just sitting by his side holding his hand without having to talk because we could just enjoy a quiet moment together.
I love him and I miss him.