On Wednesday, my paternal grandfather, Harry Stein, passed away. His death was a shock because although he was old, frail, and disabled, he seemed relatively stable. I was too young to know him in his prime but he used to regale me with wonderful stories. He was a doctor in apartheid South Africa and spent his life treating black people in the townships. My dad tells stories about the black families that would queue round the corner of his house in Joburg to receive treatment and would knock on his door at all hours of the day and night. He never rejected their cries for help. He told me about being a doctor at Baragwanath hospital in Soweto during the Soweto riots and how risky it was to get to work. Every single person who has been in touch over the past few days has mentioned how kind and caring he was. Old age did not treat him well. He moved to the UK with my grandmother before I was born and struggled to settle in to his new home. 10 years ago, he had a fall and broke his hip but never recovered. Over that time, his health deteriorated slowly and he became more and more socially isolated. Life is tough for any immigrant but it is even harder if you become disabled before you have settled in. I am sad to say we are expecting only a small attendance at his funeral. If anyone would like to join us, the family would really appreciate it. It is on Tuesday at 10am in Streatham. PM me for details. I miss his stories. I miss his warmth. I miss his calm thoughtful manner. RIP Harry Stein, the kindest man I ever knew.
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 01:22:32 +0000
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