Michel

 

Telephone calls in the middle of the night are never good.
Telephone calls in the middle of the night are ominous, since we had recently understood this year might not have a happy ending. 

A son drives through the night breaking the pandemic curfew.  He arrived just too late.

Michel, you slid away in the night, gently as you were.  The love of your life was at your side like I've always seen you together. 


You've given your (grand)children a warm home

...literally,
my feet rest on the cosy warm floor thanks to the floor heating tubes we have curled up together in this floor 15 years ago on a cold winter day.  A lot of the features that makes our home a special and warm light place come from you. You built a tree hut in your garden for your grandchildren. You helped us renovate when we decided to buy a 2nd property.  Whenever we needed, you arrived with your overall, minivan full of tools and a little pencil that you eternally misplaced and had to search over and over to draw your ideas and note your measurements.

...even more figuratively,  treating us with coffee or a good glass of wine upon every visit.  Bringing ever more appetizer to ensure we had enough or asking not twice but three times if we needed more sauce.  Taking the children to the attic to play old records and dress-up with the old hats. Always ready for a little conversation on what struck you in the newspaper that day.  I'll always picture you at a table with a coffee savouring a little pastry from your daughter's bakery. 

We've not seen each other much anymore after your original birthday party early this year.
You'll live on in Jan's joie de vivre and no-nonsense style.
You'll live on in the faces of your grandsons. 

Tomorrow we gather in a tiny group with the family to give you your last goodbye.  You'll be in the hearts and thoughts of so many more people.  We promise to take care of moeke.