Grandma Hazel

For about the past week or so, my Mum has been back home in England, initially just for a bit of a vacation from the hectic Texas schedule, but it seems that she's become more of a caretaker for my only remaining grandparent, my Grandma Hazel. She's really not doing well, and it seems like she might not be around too much longer, as horrible as that is to say out loud. My Dad is going over there on Wednesday, and the last time he dropped everything like this, I lost my Granddad. I'm worried and sad.

One of the worse parts about moving over here when I was so little was my immediate separation from my extended family. My Mum's dad died when I was only a little boy, so I never really knew him, although from the stories I've heard he was a lot like me. My Mum's mum, my Nanna, died while I was living in Pittsburgh. From what I remember, she was a tough lady, but one of the main things I remember about her was her laugh. She used to do things that would annoy my Mum to no end, and when things boiled over and my Mum ended up in tears, Nanna would give the softest little chuckle, not because anything was funny but it was almost as if she'd promised herself to never get to that point again, but she always ended up there. I didn't know her very well.

My Dad's side of the family I know a lot better, as they were around more when I was young. My Granddad was a short man with white hair and the funniest laugh I can remember. He'd stick his tongue out and cross his eyes and I thought that that was the greatest thing ever. He'd put on horrifically bad magic productions for me and my brother, which 90% of the time would end up with all three of us rolling on the floor together, crying from laughter. He was an avid fire-builder, which explains my undying fascination with the flame, and my fondest memories of his house are of throwing foreign objects into the burning fireplace in the living room. Granddad would usually supply this contraband sneakily under the table. I loved him a lot, although I'm sure I didn't tell him that enough.

My Grandma is more of an enigma to me. She's the quintessential English Grandma. If I told you to think of what a little old English Grandma looked like, you'd think of what my Grandma looks like. She's a bit round from being the best cook ever. She's overtly nice and doesn't get up in arms about anything, even when a couple of young lads accidentally kicked a football clean through the kitchen window. I cried after I did that and she gave me a chocolate bar and laughed. I love her a lot, but I'm unsure how to tell her because it's not a word that we throw around lightly at the Trafford household.

Both of my Granddads fought in World War Two, in the Royal Air Force. My Dad's Dad was shot while rescuing soldiers and earned one of the highest honors given in Britain. They were both pilots and saw things I'm sure that I could not begin to fathom. It was a richer generation back then, and the world was not as small.

I don't know a lot about all my grandparents, except that they helped mold me into who I am today. I'd like to know everything, but I think that everything would be too much for me to handle. I hope one day I can tell stories to my Grandchildren about things that I've accomplished, and maybe put on a lousy magic show or two.