Today is St Pats Day, for most its a day full of fun and merriment, mischief and all round "Irish Craic", for me its a day tinged with sadness as I remember my grandad.
After a long and brave battle with prostate cancer, grandad died on St Pats Day 10 years ago today. At the time I was heavily pregnant with my first child. Grandad died knowing that our first born was to be a boy and his middle name was Max (named in his memory). I still clearly remember the utter heartbreak and sadness I felt knowing that my brave, strong grandad was never going to meet the newest member of the McIntyre Clan.
Grandad was a gentle giant (over 6ft tall), he was calm, kind, peaceful and very proud of his scottish heritage. A quiet man, never "over the top" with affection, but all of us grandchildren knew we were loved.
Like anyone who is or was close to their grandad, I have a head and heart full of wonderful cherished memories and I will spend my quiet moments of calm today remembering them, all with a smile on my face and a tear or two in my eyes.
For a Grandad,
never forgotten and always missed
soraidh, slàn, beannachd leat