Thursday, April 15, 2010

RIP Joseph Frank Dickenson

If this seems a little jumbled, forgive me. I started writing this a few days after my Granddad passed, and I couldn't handle it. I'm just now getting back to it.

When I left for England a couple weeks ago, I knew Granddad wasn't in good health. Dad said there was a very real chance that he wouldn't even make it through the night and we wouldn't get to see him. But he made it through the night, and for another day, before he left us. I was really glad I was able to see him, even though he wasn't coherent, but my Dad stayed with him the whole time, and when he woke up for a few minutes the day before he passed, Dad told him I was there. It meant a lot to me to know that he knew that I was there. And I think it was even comforting for him to know that his only grandchild was there.

Over the past few years we kind of drifted apart. I still haven't forgiven myself for it. It fucking kills me to know how close we used to be, and how I fucked it up. I think a lot of it was when he moved to Eastbourne from Harrogate, which coincidentally, was the same time I got my first laptop, which probably had more of an effect than the move. At the new house in Eastbourne, I got my own room, which I never had in Harrogate. So I decided to stay in my room for 80% of my stay and watch movies or play video games. It was also an awkward time because here I was, 18 years old, trying to connect with my 80+ year old Granddad. We didn't have a lot to talk about. Only seeing him once or twice a year didn't help. We would catch up on the 2 hour drive from Heathrow to his house, and after that, he would ask me questions every once in a while about life and the such.

It took me a few years to realize that Granddad probably didn't have long left, and I put the laptop away and brought a book out into the study and just hung out with Granddad. I'll never forget these times. We really started to bond over football. Even though I knew he was disappointed over my decision to follow The Mighty Gunners of Arsenal rather than his hometown Hull City squad, he would never show it, and he even pretended like cared. We still both had a passion for The Beautiful Game that helped close the generation gap.

When I was little, my Granddad was my hero. He played football, and got paid for it! He was a keeper, and I was a keeper. He played for a dismal Hull City side during The War, but I always imagined him being the best player on that team. He was my granddad, how could he not be?

He kept his love of football and Hull City with him right up until he passed. One of the last things he ever saw was the result of the Hull City - Fulham game. Hull won 2-0 that game. Granddad smiled. He fell asleep, and 2 days later he passed away. I'm glad he got to see that.

It hit me right away when he passed. But for some reason, because I only got to see him a few times a year, when I got back to the States it felt like he was still around. A couple of days ago I thought to myself that I should e-mail him and see how he's doing. That's when it hit me again. I'll never talk to him again. Never again will he have to try and lift up 3 bags at once, pretending like he's in the same shape he was when he played for City and trying to stay strong. He was getting pretty bad at the end, when the Parkinson's really started to wreak havoc on his body. I'm glad it didn't last too long, and I'm infinitely glad I got to see him one last time, even if I didn't get to talk to him. I spent some time in his room, reading and hoping he would wake up, just for a minute so we could talk about City one last time. I'll never get that chance, and it fucking kills me everyday.

He spoiled me rotten when I was a kid. Being his only grandchild definitely didn't hurt that. He would have done anything for me, or anyone in my family for that matter. Even towards the end, he would go out of his way to leave me some spending money for my trip. He was the most caring person I've ever met. I took it for granted for a long time, and for that I'm sorry Granddad.

After he passed, I came back to the States a few days later. During the week and a half that I was home, before I went back for his funeral, I got an outpouring of support that I never expected. I missed him immediately, and my friends got me through. To everyone that was there for me/with me, thank you so much. There's no way you can possibly understand how much it meant for me for you to be there, helping me through this. I got overwhelming support from all angles, and I fear that I'll never be able to repay it back. Thank you.



I miss you Granddad. RIP.

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