Grandpa Aubrey
On the 8th of April 2020, my precious Grandpa, Aubrey, died in his sleep.
He was 89 and had a very full life. He was strong and silent, he was in the Navy (with a ship tattoo on his forearm to prove it). He was practical, a very handy man, cheeky and had a way with the ladies. He had crooked fingers, strong thick eyebrows, and a docile, gentle little voice. And in his youth had a very covetable full mop of wavy black hair.
He came from a time where a good work attitude was your greatest armour.
He and my grandmother lived in Broxburn, Scotland after he served in the Navy, and at the end of the 70’s (along with most of that side of the family) moved to Canada for a different life. He was a family man; the kind of man they just don’t make anymore.
When I looked at him, I felt nostalgic for a time I’d never known, when “everything was in black and white” as I used to say when I was a kid. Sailor’s whistles, or anything nautical, will always remind me of him.
He was wonderful and I loved him.
It had been a long time coming; the doctors only gave him a few months back in pandemic-less July. He was fortunate enough to give the family another 9 months or so. It was as ‘expected’ as it could have been. There had been a lot of hints dropped here and there between now and last July that he probably wasn’t going to last too long.
He had gone from frail and slow, to wheelchair-bound, to round-the-clock bed-bound in the home.
I wasn’t particularly worried about him in the time leading up to his death. I’d become so accustomed to his resilience and strength, that I took him for granted and didn’t take into consideration time, and how indeed - it waits for no man.
I was kicking myself for all the times I’d put off calling or face-timing him and my Grandmother. Not for any real reason; I was just lazy and busy. I knew that I was afraid of seeing him so frail and weak in physicality that it would make me feel weird and sad. Seeing somebody so old and fragile simply reminds you of your own, and everyone else that you love’s, inevitable mortality. And I didn’t want to contemplate death or have some kind of existential crisis after I’d hung up with them.
But this isn’t all about my dear old Aubrey and his life, the kind of man he was, and how much I and so many others will miss him. I could go on forever with that. It’s really about how moved I was on the day of his funeral. For obvious expected reasons, but then also by the unexpected and accidental. I learnt on that day that we as people adapt with the tenacity of compassion and love, by any means necessary. How we need to connect in order to survive or, more plainly, to cope.
The last time I saw Aubrey, or any of that side of the family for that matter, was around four years ago in Toronto for my Uncle Stephen’s funeral. My first family funeral. Aubrey’s son.
Stephen had many health complications over the years and I wasn’t sure of the details of what it actually was that killed him in the end - I choose to be oblivious to certain details like these, I find it makes things easier. It probably makes me come across ignorant and uninformed, when really it’s just a juvenile coping mechanism.
He, Aubrey, was quiet and still throughout, which made his confession of “it should have been me instead” afterwards all the more heartbreaking.
That was the last time I saw Aubrey in person. I had a feeling it would be the last time, though I never admitted this to myself or anyone else.
The day of grandpa Aubrey’s funeral, I woke up in quarantine as I had any other day; late and not bothered to get dressed. As far as I was aware, there would be a small gathering for the funeral in a local director’s near where they lived in Oshawa.
Because of the virus, I assumed it would be no more than a handful of close relatives who would have to stand meters apart in order to keep to the health guidelines.
I got a call from my sister and father on facetime (a medium I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to using, but people were really getting into it in quarantine). It was a ‘test-run’ for the funeral. They were going to stream it for those of us who couldn’t make it in person, an adaptive, lovely thought, although I was struck with an uncomfortable sense of dread and panic; Oh god, did I really have to do this? Was I expected to hold my phone up to my reddened, teary face and see a split screen of several members of my family dotted all over the globe? Surely this wasn’t appropriate? Forced to face the pain and sorrow I felt head on without any way of hiding from it?
Of course I had to do it, I’d be an asshole not to.
Starting at 4pm our time, I had a few hours to change and prepare. It was bizarre, getting ready routinely as though I was indeed attending a funeral in person. Remembering it was only in my front room on my ancient iPhone 5, which I was worried would betray me with connection failure at the most crucial moment.
Now, I’m not a drinker - certainly this hasn’t always been the case, but that’s a different story. But nowadays I’m more or less T-total. But today I needed something to take the edge off. My father suggested a stiff whiskey - I opted for a more unsophisticated Strongbow Dark Fruits. Don’t judge me, it's bloody delicious and did the trick. By 3.45pm I was confidently buzzed and ready. I’d forgotten what it was like to be tipsy, a glorious limbo of giddiness.
We connected into FaceTime. People were constantly cutting out and losing connection. A good five minutes of greetings followed by delayed reactions and sound. My stone-age iPhone was holding up surprisingly well. I chain smoked out the window, not only had I forgotten what it was like to be tipsy but I’d also forgotten the way cigarettes and booze go together oh so wonderfully. We’d scrubbed up nicely since the test run; my sister plaited her hair, my cousin Charlotte had changed into dark colours and my father had gotten into a suit - from the waist up.
It was good to see everyone make an effort for Aubrey. Of course we should, he would have done the same for us. My aunt was the designated camera operator from Canada, and we saw them turbulently pull up and park at the cemetery.
Three or four rushed glasses of Dark Fruits later, smoking away out my window, I felt so intimately close to them. Not just the Canadian lot, but my father, my sister who were at opposite ends of London and my cousin Charlotte all the way up in Glasgow.
In an ordinary scenario, we’re so concerned with looking ahead. Trying to get through the day. This was odd, unfamiliar and novel. Each person’s face so plainly on display to one another, no hiding, no welcomed distractions or finding anything on the ground to focus on. I could just about hear the hymn they were playing for him as the ceremony was about to begin.
And then almost as if on cue, my shitty iPhone did what it does best. I’d lost connection. Instead of being relieved I was struck by another kind of dread and panic, I didn’t want to miss a thing. A few minutes passed, but nobody had rung me back yet. I hurriedly typed into the WhatsApp group ‘What’s happening?’. Dumb, to think anyone would respond, but I had to try.
‘What’s happening?’ to my sister. And to my father ‘anything happening at your end?’. No one was responding. I huffed down to the kitchen fridge to pour myself more alcoholic fizzy Ribena.
I tried ringing my sister - still no answer. Fuck. I’m missing the whole thing.
Had I been so flippant with my wish to run and hide away and not face my own grief? And now it had happened, and I’d been left out of the ceremony. I was furious that nobody had thought to include me and tried to get me back onto the video call.
When really, understandably, they weren’t thinking of me - they were thinking of Aubrey. But I was shut out and furious. I’d felt so close to everyone, I could feel the sun and chilliness from the Canadian video as well as everyone's brave expressions and teary eyes. And then it’s gone - you’re in England and your piece of shit phone has left you in the lurch. I was still furious and upset how no one had thought to call me back.
At this point, I was bordering on hysterical, as I said, the booze had gone down excellently until that point. I’d finally managed to get through to my sister and blurted out “I can't see or hear anything, what's happening!?” which was received with a harsh “Shhh!”. Apparently all of my calls had been ringing out onto the speaker and the recording of my father's eulogy was playing aloud and he told my sister to tell me to shut up because nobody could hear the goddam priest.
I cut out again.
I’d missed the entire thing, fucking great. I knew it was the booze talking but I felt betrayed and bitter. I loved Aubrey and I was annoyed that nobody had let me know what was happening.
An incoming facetime call. ‘Hello?” It was my uncle-in-law Barry. A few ricketty voices in the background but everyone was back on the split screen, as they had been before. I’d guessed they’d all lost connection so this was redial for everyone.
‘Hey Marg, did you see it all ok?”
“No! I missed the whole thing, because nobody called me back!” I cringed instantly at how accusatory it had sounded. Not realising again, that it was aloud on the speaker.
I felt awkward and silly. I thought that I’d be left there hanging in this awful silence and embarrassment of me being so inappropriate and selfish. When actually it was met with genuine sympathy. A chorus of “Awww’s’ and ‘Noooo’’s erupted from the split screen. A wave of apologies and consolations. Ugh, I felt like human garbage. Everybody was so kind to me about it, reassured me that I didn’t miss much. It was just the goddam sermon from the priest.
I’d felt so isolated and mad, but after sympathetic reassurance, it waned away, which again made me feel silly and selfish. It’s remarkable, how in these situations we learn that things are bigger than us, and how to get over yourself for the sake of others, and that is what I believe love truly is.
I was back with everyone, whole. We were all over the place (me, mostly), but it didn’t matter. The Canadians stood in a spread out circle in the cemetery's garden, in dark clothes and sunglasses, the sun was shining such a lovely light on everyone. I felt so connected, as though I’d never been closer to them individually.
There we were, all stripped down, nothing more or nothing less than what we needed to be on that day. Which was to show up for Aubrey no matter what.
I felt elated. I was proud to be there. Being so far away from everyone, usually meant I felt very detached from that side of the family, as though I was some kind of imposter and a bit of a black sheep.
Everybody went around the circle to share their favourite memory of Aubrey, very Canadian. But it was gorgeous, he didn’t seem gone, he was there, living in the stories everyone told. We all laughed and tearily swapped stories of how lovely and funny he was. We all “cheers’ed” as people topped up and cracked open more booze, and passed around the phone to see each other.
I felt so foolish for overreacting about a priest's sermon, when really this was all that mattered. I still wasn't completely over the humiliation as my mascara and eyeliner ran for everyone to see, which didn’t do much for my imposter complex, but I didn’t care. I was so happy to be right there, right where I was supposed to be, ‘surrounded’ by comfort, love and warmth... although I’m sure the booze had something to do with it.
Written by Margot Channing
Margot lives in London currently, although previously enjoyed life in Paris, and works in film and TV (vfx). She loves dogs and books, with the ambition of writing a published novel and TV show in the future.