It's been almost two years since my Opa passed away. I'm sad he is no longer here, but always grateful I had the chance the last few years to reconnect with him (after being estranged for 20 years) even though dementia had set in, his stories of his youth and young adulthood were always the same. My kids had a chance to meet him and hear these stories (even if it was the same story everytime we visited).
This is all I have from him
The letters, birthday cards and pictures I started sending him after my kids were born. After he died my aunt returned these to me in a bag. This week I took it out. I never knew if all those years he got my stuff, I never expected anything in return, I just felt he should know someone cared and that no matter what had happened, I had wonderful memories I'd always held onto. Every envelope was opened with a letter opener, it was this detail that brought me to tears, for it was those little things I had always remembered of him. For me it's not the material things we possess in life that matter, it's the memories we make and hand down from one generation to the next, that matter.
Happened across this picture I gave him in 2007 (has hole marks on it, because he hung it in his room). Just one of my favorite pictures of the kids and I.
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