Once it's gone, it's lost forever.

It feels like I've had this blog forever, but in all reality, it really hasn't been that long.
Since my blog started, no one close to me has died. People have been sick, people have been hit by cars. But no one has died.
Today, my great-uncle Dally died.
I don't know what happened, they think it was a stroke, but they're not sure. He was found naked in his apartment after his daughter hadn't heard from him in a few days.
I wasn't that close to him, I know. I'm not sure what his first name is, I think it's Harold, but he always went by Dal, his middle name. He made some elf signs that we hang up every Christmas, he attended the odd family gathering.
He could always be counted on to bring a smile to the group. He always had a joke, a laugh, a story. He was the liveliness of the family.

Do you know what scares me the most about his death?
That's another one gone.
My grandfather only has 5 siblings left alive now.
My grandfather who is older than all his siblings, (he turned 85 yesterday).
It's like, every day he gets closer and closer. I know he's still 25 on the inside, he goes running 3 times a week, he fixes cars, he builds things for the garden.
But one day it's gonna happen.
One day he's not gonna be there. He's not gonna come over and tell us his amazing stories. Stories of being in the war. Of risking his life. Stories of his childhood. The depression. Stories of how he went down to the beach and collected coins that had fallen out of pockets, for his mother.
He is amazing in ways no one else will ever understand. He appreciates every single thing other people do for him, yet gives generosity so easily. He spent weeks arguing with the organisers of the ANZAC march, to let relatives of deceased soldiers march, he told them that it wasn't about the ANZACs still alive, it was about the ones that didn't come back.
He is the most caring, selfless person I know, and I'm not ready for him to go.

In year 9 poetry, when we were told to write a poem about our hero, I chose him. I read him his poem, and he asked for a copy, so he could show everyone he knew.
This is my poem:

The Ballad Of Bert

Bert was born before television,
Credit cards and frozen food
Before ball point pens and laser beams,
Before man walked on the moon

He lived in an era when getting married
Came before living together
When a ‘Big Mac’ was a large raincoat
Oversized, and for wet weather

So he grew up, and signed up
To fight in World War II
(He tried when he was underage
But this he could not do)

He was a forward, frontline soldier
As far out as can be
At times he even found himself
In enemy territory

But the war he did survive
Though many were left behind
They died to save their country
And make peace for all mankind

He moved on to his next hobby
Cars became his passion
Buying all cars that caught his eye
Both in and out of fashion

So he started his own business
(Panel-beater by trade)
And kept this business running
Until he aged and greyed

He soon had cancer of the bowel
So he had an operation
But he came back fighting fit
Renewed with determination

And even after operation
He sure did like to run
And not just to keep him fit
He liked to call it ‘fun’

So he ran the ‘City to Surf’
At 81 years young
He reached an incredible time
But still his song remained unsung

So here I am to sing it
In hopes you’ll understand
My grandfather, Bert Jourdain
Is an EXCEPTIONAL man!