My husband’s late grandfather, in the summer of ‘67 enjoying a whisky sour in the backyard of the house he and his wife owned till the end.

Unfortunately I never got to meet the “real” Grandpa Allan as by the time my husband and I started dating his mind had been wrecked by two strokes. He struggled to speak and it would frustrate him, so he spent most of his time listening. He would struggle to remember people, but every time we came over for dinner, his face would always light up and he would point to our names in his notebook and then laugh hug us. He was a classically trained pianist and when we would go over to visit, my husband would play the piano for him while his grandmother and I cooked dinner and drank … lots of champagne. While my husband played, Alan would tip his head back, close his eyes and smile. I miss the man and I hardly knew him.

by metal-gear-rex