Today my Grandfather passed away. His name was Kevin Barry, but some people called him Hank. He was my Grandfather on my Dad’s side. He was an energetic, charming man who always had a sense of fun about him. I used to joke that he reminded me of the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz, not because of any cowardice or anything, just because I felt he had similar interesting mannerisms. I even based a character on him when I toured as an Actor, I never told him this, but I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it. I copied his movements and speech pattern and played them to packed audiences all over the country. His energy was something that belonged on stage, so it felt appropriate and audiences seemed to enjoy it. Up until a few months ago he could be seen walking the hills of Cobh at a healthy pace, leaving some young people, including myself, in the dust. Just before the pandemic I went out for a stroll around the town myself. Walking wasn’t my favourite hobby at the time due to an injury that had become aggravated earlier this year. Half way through I decided to stop at the bottom of a hill and sit at a bench to rest my stupid leg, planning to go home instead of braving the hill, afraid of the pain it would surely cause to my already throbbing knee. After a few minutes of sitting and scrolling through twitter I heard a voice from behind me say, “Getting too old for the hills boy?”, it was my Grandad. He stopped and we had a quick chat before he went to walk on. I asked if I could tag along as we were going the same way. We walked up the hill and chit chatted about nothing in particular until I realised I had reached where I was going to. We exchanged goodbyes, and he continued on his way. This simple interaction made me think back to my childhood. When I was in senior infants, my Grandfather would walk me home from school, which I was grateful for, as I was an easily scared child. At first he would pick me up me at the door of the school, then at the gate. After a few weeks of this he would say to me, “If I’m not there just start walking, and I’ll meet you along the way”. Over the course of a few weeks he would meet me further and further along the road, until eventually I was walking home on my own without fear. This, I now know, is a super important lesson. If you’re afraid of something, or think something seems impossible, try tackling it piece by piece and day by day, you’ll see that impossible gets closer with each attempt. I wasn’t incredibly close with him, but there was never any issue between us. I am absolutely terrible at keeping in touch with people or calling to relatives and friends. For this reason I am so happy that I met him on the hill that day. I don’t believe in higher powers or things happening for a reason, but by sheer coincidence he showed up at the bottom of the hill and walked me to the top, on a day that I was about to give up and go home. This meant more to me than he knew. He made me cry at my Parents wedding. He made a speech welcoming me to the Barry family, and I started to cry thinking he wanted me to give a speech. I was 29 years old! No, I’m joking, I was 4 years old, and the thought of him giving me a microphone terrified me so much that I missed what a great moment it was. To give this context, I have to mention something that I don’t talk about a lot. I am adopted on my Father's side. Meaning, biologically this man is not a relative, but I have never seen it that way. I don’t think he did either, nor anyone in that family to be fair. To me he is my Grandad, he always was, and always will be. I've known him for as long as I can remember and don't see him as anything but my Grandad. For him to take the time to publically welcome me into his family was an incredible thing to do, and I ruined it by crying into my Mother’s Wedding Dress, like the idiot boy that I was. He never had to, but in that moment he publicly accepted me as his own Grandson, and I am eternally grateful for that.
Do I wish I’d called more now? Of course I do.
Am I happy for the time I spent with him? Absolutely.
He will be missed, by me, and by everyone that knew him.
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