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My grandfather, Farfar, is 82. I love him dearly and try to visit often, but I fail, and I don’t see him as often as I want. He has been ill for a long time, an illness he has proven he can live with, but which is at the same time tearing on him. I have many fond memories of him from my childhood as I spent quite a lot of time with him growing up. He has taught me much and has told numerous fascinating stories from his life before he became a father, grandfather, and now a great-grandfather.

He loves it when Son visits, and although he’s often tired he always takes time and makes an effort to entertain and spend time with him. Last time we visited he brought tears to my eyes, tears of joy and love, as he helped Son up on his lap. Found a pencil and a piece of paper and drew animals and mythical creatures. He used to do the same with me when I was wee. His hands are shakier now and his lap can’t hold a child for as long, but he smiled, and Son smiled. The characters he drew were characters I know from my childhood. Now they are given new life with a new generation.

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