I only remember one of my great-grandparents, my Grandpa’s father. I recall visiting him at a nursing home in Stawell when I was about 8, on a day trip with my grandparents.
My great-grandfather was in his late 80s at this stage and Alzheimer’s had set in. He didn’t know who we were and the whole visit was a bit boring, if I’m terribly honest: neither of us knew the other and that wasn’t about to change. He died a year or so later and his funeral was held on my birthday. That’s basically all I ever experienced directly with my great-grandparents.
Fortunately, our little lad was born with 4 surviving great-grandparents – two on my side and two on my wife’s. Those on my side live in Warrnambool and while both had met their newest descendant, he hadn’t yet been to the town I also spent the first 9 years of my life in, so we planned a weekend away to show him off.
My wife and I took a long weekend off so it wasn’t just an overnight trip. Warrnambool is about 3.5 hours away so driving down one day and back the next doesn’t leave a whole lot of time, so we took the extra day.
We arranged beforehand to stay with my great-grandfather (Mum’s dad) at his place in Koroit. We asked him a few weeks earlier if it was ok and he was pretty chuffed about it. My mother told me that in the lead-up to us staying, he pulled out the old cot we slept in as kids and gave it a coat of paint and replaced the mattress! Quite a proud great-grandparent.
We timed our departure to align with the time between feeds. The lad is on a 3-hour cycle, so we hoped the comfort of the car would let us stretch out the time and not have to stop for a top-up on the way… We got to about 20 minutes away and he started crying! We managed to console him until we reached my grandfather’s though, and rushed in to give a quick bottle.
Grandpa was pretty excited to have us, it was clear to see. The house was spotlessly clean and the temperature nice and comfy – like a hotel, really! He showed us to our room and helped me carry the bags. After the lad was finished his bottle, Grandpa offered us lunch. He’d set up a buffet of chicken & salad to make sandwiches; it was all quite nice of him really.
We spent that day with him, just enjoying a quiet afternoon together and watching Leo crawling around a whole new lounge room of fun. That night, my aunty was visiting as well and we had a quiet dinner and headed to bed early.
The next day, Sunday, we headed into town. After having a coffee in a nice little place, we drove around the town a bit. This is the place where I lived until I was 9, and I’d been back quite regularly since, at least every couple of years or so. It is always nice to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same.
There was one thing on this trip though that I had been a bit anxious about – visiting the cemetery and ‘introducing’ my son to my late father. We pulled up and I walked over to his grave on my own at first, and tidied it up a bit. I then carried my boy over and made the most surreal and sad introduction I think I’ll ever make. Needless to say, it wasn’t very fun. Another reminder of the now-distant role that my father had in my life and the completely non-existent role he will have in that of my family. But we move on, don’t we…?
Lunch was at my father’s mother, my Nanna. I always look forward to seeing Nanna, she has a wicked sense of humour and makes a mean Pavlova Roll: two major ticks in my book! We enjoyed another lazy afternoon of food, conversation and laughs, with another aunty and uncle dropping in as well. A great afternoon.
We then headed back to Grandpa’s and made it in time for the dinner he’d cooked. After dinner was another cemetery introduction, the lad’s great-grandmother, my grandma. They missed meeting each other by about 10 months, which is a real shame, as my grandma would have loved him – a redheaded boy, just like her Irish side of the family. Whilst still a bit sad, I felt a lot happier at this introduction, like I was showing off our boy. One thing we did notice was the names on the gravestones: a lot of the men, who’d been born in the 1920s, were named ‘Leo’! We took note of a few names that will go on the shortlist for any future children.
That evening everyone else went to bed quite early, but I was wide awake. I sat up in my grandma’s chair, reading a book from her overcrowded bookshelves, and took in the quiet solitude of it all. I got to thinking about what the future might hold for my family – where we might live, what events and changes would happen that we aren’t yet aware of, what our kids will be like and whether they’ll move away from their home town just as I did, and lose some of the day-to-day involvement in their parents lives? I went to bed before I started getting too far off in the clouds, as can happen sometimes!
The next day was a quick morning visit to my grandma’s brother and his wife, who were absolutely lovely and happy to see us. After a coffee and catch-up, we hit the road and headed home. The lad slept the whole way this time, all tired from a weekend of making people laugh and smile.
Everyone who spent some time with Leo commented on what a lovely boy he is, and while I agree, it’s nice to hear it from others. He is a great kid and I’m proud of him.
He’s lucky to have some great-grandparents around and I’m glad they are getting to spend some decent time with him, makes me proud to show off what my wife and I have achieved. We took plenty of photos and plan to make a similar trip again later this year and try making it a regular thing.
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