I’ve not been sure whether or not I should post something so personal on my writing blog, but I’ve decided that I’m going to because it explains why I’m not online very much lately. I’ve been absent from my usual haunts, popping on once or twice a day to say something if I need to – like to mention to Lauren DeStefano that I dreamt about Wither, or to thank my totally awesome friend on Goodreads for helping me find a very important poem.
Yesterday my grandfather passed away in Australia. He’s been increasingly ill for about the last eighteen months, and I’d been holding out hope that he’d last until I got home and I’d get to say goodbye. Unfortunately his weakened immune system couldn’t hold off a respiratory infection and he died peacefully in the presence of his family. I was asked to track down the poem I mentioned earlier to confirm its title and author for his funeral.
My grandfather is my hero. He was forcibly taken from his Ukrainian village by the Nazis when he was a young man. I don’t know many details, because he never talked about it and we were encouraged never to ask, but he escaped the factory and migrated to Australia. He met my grandmother, who was also an immigrant avoiding the war, and they settled in my home state and had a family.
The Viking and I are having a subdued Australia Day celebration tomorrow. But if I’m not around lately, now you know why.