Richard Baum

A year ago today my Grandpa died. I wrote about it in my old blog and as the last of the old generation passed away and we all moved up one, it cemented for me the fact that I wasn’t a kid any more.

It’s odd how days can begin normally and then, because of what happens on them, stay with you forever. My dad’s generation had the day JFK died or John Lennon died. My generation had Diana and 9/11. I remember odd little things about those days that I’ll never forget. The types of everyday normality that go unmarked all the time, but because of their context suddenly become flashing beacons of a bygone time - just the trivia - the fact that I went to see Wolves play Bury the night before Diana, and that I sat watching “Cats and Dogs” in the cinema after 9/11 thinking it was the most preposterous thing to be doing in the world at that time.

Just thinking about that bloody film with it’s crazy talking cats makes me feel ill because of it!

And we all share memories of days when people we love go away. Three of my grandparents have died in the past few years - touching ordinary days with immortality by demonstrating the fact that people themselves are mortal. I remember the t-shirt I was wearing when my grandma died; the pub I was in when I found out that my other grandma had died. And most vividly of all, maybe because it was most recent, I remember Grandpa last year.

I remember the book I was reading (about JFK, oddly enough), the fact that I was half watching Chelsea play Barcelona on ITV, and the fact that when the call came through to tell me he’d gone I had a pizza in the oven which I retrieved, blackened, about 20 minutes later when I’d rung round lots of relatives.

All very odd the things we remember…

I like it when life throws up coincidences. Little bits of symmetry or nice touches which wouldn’t look out of place in slushy romance novels. I like thinking about people I haven’t seen in ages, and then seeing them the next day. I like it when I predict the unfeasible to a hopeful friend and then it happens and makes them smile. I like how things happen on certain days - just in time to remind me of something. And today is one of those nice completions of the circle, because tonight I am making my first speech to Council.

I’ve asked a couple of questions, but never stood and made my case. Lots of Councillors never do at all. But I’ve been elected to say things, and say things I will. It’s the next step in this big adventure of being a Councillor, of serving the people of my ward and making a difference.

I think it’s nice that the dates coincide, because I know he’d be proud. We all lose people we love, and have to move on, and it’s sad of course. And now, the sadness isn’t raw but it’s there when I think about it. 

I’m nervous, I must say. No matter how many times I do a presentation at work I still get butterflies. And this is worse because there are people waiting, just waiting, to shoot me down. I don’t know if I believe he can see me, but I might look up and think he’s urging me on when I stand up tonight. Wherever he is, I’m glad that a year after he’s gone I can do something to make him smile.

Rick