I watched an old home video and saw my grandparents in their 40s. They were so beautiful

It is the strange unknown that lives between an age gap. It’s like a wide stretch of road between you and the other person. You can be close of course, but something remains unreachable.

When you’re younger, it’s hard to imagine ever reaching the age of this older person. They are a few rungs ahead of you on the ladder and you can’t quite see what they see yet. Maybe the society they grew up in was very different to the one you’ve come to know. Or the additional years of living they have clocked up contain a multitude of experiences, some of which are still fuzzy previews in your mind, but it’s like you’re both watching the same movie in different rooms and their TV is slightly ahead.

My grandad, when he was a little boy on a farm in Cavan, had a pet cow. Obviously the cow was not acquired for that purpose, but Grandad and his siblings doted on the cow and used to play with her every day. He named her Padraig. He told me this one morning with a face crinkled in happiness.

Mornings have become the best time for these little chats with a man who can solve any problem, whether they’re emotional, mechanical or political. To hear his voice, even before the solution is revealed, is to feel safe. He’s also cheeky and hilarious (cue me coming in wearing striped pyjamas, to Grandad asking, “Which prison have you just escaped from?”). Health issues which have progressed over the last year have led to him now sleeping downstairs.

When I was in college, many of my Sunday mornings would begin with his gentle knock on my door, coffee and painkillers for my hangover and a lift into work. All these Sundays later, it’s me knocking on his door with a little wave and a cup of tea. Once he gets out of bed, he struggles to speak for the rest of the day.

This is why the advice he has, the thoughts he keeps and the stories he tells are maybe more important than they’ve ever been. Sometimes it’s a lot of pressure to think of what to ask; and if it was anyone else I think they’d feel pressure to say the right thing. But not Grandad. He just knows, whatever it is, it’s all already there.

A few months ago a relative found an old tape in their shed. Someone transferred the recording to a USB stick and one night a few of us sat down in the sitting room to watch it. A brother-in-law of Grandad’s had a hobby of recording events such as matches, birthdays and family gatherings. This particular night was a family party in Grandad’s little house in Cavan in the 80s, maybe to welcome a sister home who lived in America. There were plenty of laughs at how young my own aunt and uncle looked, roaming around outside with their cousins, pale and curly-haired and a little sullen for the camera.

The resemblance to their own kids was the first shock, not just in their expressions but in the way they moved. Inside, the grownups were drinking and cackling around the table. Grandad’s sister, the one back from America, was beautiful and gregarious and holding court, telling a long-winded story that the entire tableful was hanging on to.

I couldn’t follow the story because my brain was so set on this visual magic. My great-grandmother – who died a few months before I was born – was sitting with her back to the camera and only her curly grey head was visible. This faceless figure, Maggie, who I’d been told was kind and fun and ahead of her time was, like us, a spectator to the hilarity. She had suffered a stroke a while before this night so was silent, but present.

[ Why is no one talking about the grandchildren gap?Opens in new window ]

I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of seeing my granny, young, in her 40s, sitting on the couch just behind the table in a maroon turtleneck, fashionable haircut, petting the dog and looking on shyly at the table (Granny is anything but shy). She was laughing along with her brother and sisters-in-law.

And then my grandad came in. He looked tall, was dressed in a shirt and tie, his curls cut neatly, clean-shaven. I could feel, and see, the presence he brought with him into the room. He was young. His brother and sisters pestered him to sing a song. He did, sweetly and easily. Then he deftly extracted himself from the chaos of the table, strode two steps over to where my granny was sitting and settled beside her, quietly holding her hand.

They were so beautiful. I look over at Grandad now, in his wheelchair, and feel the road stretch out between us. Then he catches my eye and smiles. And he doesn’t seem so far away.