I’m not going to say that we flew down to Florida to get a picture, because we didn’t. We flew down to Florida to see my grandfather, who is 94-years-old and my son’s only living great-grandparent. All my own great-grandparents passed away long before I was born, as did my husband’s great-grandparents. So I’m not saying that we flew down to Florida to take a picture, but I’m admitting we wanted one. A photograph of four generations, all alive at the same time. Proof that it had happened. Me, my son, my father, and his father.
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My grandfather got sick nine months ago. Up until then he had been more or less fine, just old. He puttered along, talking to people and pondering things. Trimming his nosehairs and fixing his glasses with tape when they broke. He had continued at his hobbies. Yes, he told a lot…
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