The Saturday before last Grandma, Dorothea Wilson, passed away at 88 years of age. I had recently seen her in Melbourne while I was there and knew when I left that it would be unlikely that I’d see her again. While it’s always sad to lose a beloved grandparent I was really lucky to have seen so much of her during my time in Australia. Below is what I wrote for the funeral, which I couldn’t attend as it was last Thursday.

I have a head full of fantastic memories about Grandma, and so I suppose it’s a bit hard to know where to begin. I remember the kitchen at Burke street and her making mash potato for Evan and I, which, of course, we were cruelly denied at home. I remember Grandma’s mock incredulity every time we cut our hair short (or did something silly, like dying it green).

But my favourite memories of Grandma are from a bit later, taking her to Southland or Mentone to do the shopping and have a coffee, or just going round for lunch and a chat. Of course as many of you know, inevitably I would do all the talking on these outings, a fact that Grandma would cheerfully remind me of but never seemed to mind.

I think grandparents are always the subject of special memories, and I feel lucky that I had so much time with Grandma and have so many memories of her.

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