Infinite State Automaton

"Dunn - variants Dunne, O'Dunn, Dun. Meaning 'brown complexioned one'. This sept originated in county Leix and formed one of the principle families of Leinster, their chiefs being Lords of Iregan. The sept gets special mention in the 16th Century as being hostile and dangerous to the English cause. It is in that part of the country, that the Dunnes are now to be found in their greatest numbers. Nearly all who spelt their name Dunn are from Ulster. In the gallery of famous Irishmen is found Gillananoaomh O'Duinn (1102-1160), who was a great historian and poet and James O'Dunne, an active Jacobite (1700-1758), who was Bishop of Osorry."

--www.namehistories.com

Add Austin Dunn, my grandfather, to that list.

I know too little about this man. I remember walks in the small garden of their backyard, learning of the plants, the caterpillars, the birds and flowers. I remember barbecues and dinners and lunches. I remember going to the small Catholic church at St Kierans that, even now, still feels like home to me. I remember the many lessons and things that he taught me, and also the smiles, the glasses of sand, and the many mornings together.

I remember eating grapefruit and muesli without sugar. I remember the quiet room full of books, the many readers digests, the soft, gentle reverence in that house.

I remember walks on the beach, I remember walks in the park, I remember discovering and sharing the secret of the ant lions with him. I remember the beautiful view down Seebreeze street, I remember the annoying no-right-turn corner.

I remember using the lawn clippers to cut the wrong trees and getting in to trouble, and I remember how few times I visited.

The steep hill. Manly Vale. The wide, beautiful beach, with stranded blue bottles, shells, and stories. A thousand times a thousand footsteps, with him, my brothers, my family and cousins. I remember the mall, ice cream, easter, mornings.

My grandfather flew a Lancaster in the battle of Britain. He performed many rescue missions too. But he never spoke of this time to me, only to tell me what the strange machine that was pictured on his wall. Now it is too late to ask him, because last night he passed away.

The first person in my family to die that I remember was Auntie Moira. I was too young to appreciate the significance. I was sad, of course, I cried. Fifteen years have passed. I have been very, very fortunate to have my family members live for so long.

I should be sad. I should be crying. But, no tears will come. Partly, it's annoying to be a Christian because I believe - as he believed - that he's in a better place, and happier, and waiting for his wife to join him. (As an aside, saying to a grieving grandmother "I am sure you will see him again soon" may possibly not be comforting)

I didn't make the most of my opportunities to speak with him, so I am selfishly sad that he is gone before I could ask him more.

My grandparents story is an amazing romance. They met at a dance when their eyes happened to meet, and had been together ever since. I went home to Sydney only two years ago to celebrate their wedding anniversary.

I am sorry I didn't finish my degree fast enough for you to be glad to hear about it, Granddad Dunn. But I am very glad to share the ant-lions with you. I know you were very happy to see and play with such tiny creatures with me.

ah well, now I am crying.

Rest easy old friend. You had a life full of accomplishments and success. You finished well. I admire you.