Coffee Space 
Russ is my Great Great Uncle, my Great Grandmother’s brother. Yesterday, during his sleep, he died at the age of 99. By the end of his life, mostly referring to the last 3 months or so, he complained of being too tired to go on. As he said himself: “I’ve had good innings”.
He lived in Enfield in London in a house he owned outright, a place he had lived a large portion of his life. He was one of the last white people to live in his road, the rest being pushed out of London.
In his home lived his homosexual son and his boyfriend of approximately 80 years old. It is my understanding that Russ was disappointed when he first learned this, but was remarkably accepting for his age and there is no doubt in my mind that he loved his son.
I want to share a few memories I have, from my perspective.
Some of my earliest memories of Russ was playing cards with him and my Great Grandparents. He was sharp until the day he died, and that sharpness shone through whilst playing games of Egyptian Rummy (Rummy where the 2 counts as anything). He was always polite, always respectful, always tentative and somewhat old-school.
He spoke like a man who had smoked a lot in his life, although I never saw him smoke or smelled it on him. He used to say the phrase ‘bloooody hell’ a lot, which was somewhat comforting. On occasion he would say things like ‘oh dear oh dear oh dear’ when thinking and trying to formulate something, and when somebody else won he would say ‘count ’em up’.
We would kill hours and hours together, and it was always a pleasure.
A notable story is that during COVID, he asked his neighbour to check a spot on his back that was hurting from over a fence. His neighbour said something like “you better get that checked, it doesn’t look good”. A trip to the hospital diagnosed it as cancer.
During COVID, this 90+ year old man used the bus to travel to the local hospital to get treatment for his cancer. Can you imagine dealing with COVID in isolation plus cancer? He was incredibly brave.
I regret a few things, but I forgive myself as I was so young at the time:
I have only ever known him as Russ and I have no interest in knowing him as anything else. I don’t know if Russ is his real name, or what is his surname as of writing, I have never met his son and I have never been to his house. Not knowing these things is fine, I knew the man Russ, and he was a good man.
As my Great Grandfather said a while before he passed (paraphrasing after so many years since it was spoken): “I don’t believe in God, but if there is a heaven, it sure would be nice.”