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A young death is hard for allthe family

My Grandson.

Water_witch-2by Abigael02 Sep 2019

I was looking into the face of my grandson as he might have looked in his forties. Tears welled in my eyes, I loved my grandson, at only eighteen, he lay in a big coffin, surrounded by a mountain of wreaths and flowers. Loved and mourned by family : old school friends, fellow cadets, and workmates. He had always confided in me, as he might have with his own mother, but sadly, neither mum nor son had spoken since she left them when he was a young teen. Like most lads he was neither devil nor saint. His mother would not share his fathers identity, he would have loved to know his biological father.
The only Dad he had ever known was Paul my son who raised him as his own since he was two, they did boys stuff together and loved one another.

The funeral -
my grandson's mother wears
designer shades.
Though he had tried to see his son, the man standing before me had been denied fatherhood.. I warmed to him, he was so much like his son. With tears in my eyes I painted a word portrait of my grandson for his father and shared precious memories - I fervently wished I could paint a portrait of his father for my grandson.

tears for a brother -
my grandson's sister reads
the eulegy.