My grandfather died when I was 12, but I remember the sorrow of my mother. Even now, she's an old lady, but when she speaks about her father, she looks young. A love like that is undefeated, you know?
Sentiment: POSITIVE
The grief of losing my father has come in waves over the years, as it does with most people. His love and devotion as a father provided my closest, most intimate relationship. Dad, and our time together, is in my bones. While reflecting on him, the memories themselves seem to boil down into certain 'essences of Dad.'
Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost. Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love.
My mother married my father in 1956. She was twenty-eight, and he was thirty-one. She loved him with a fierce steadiness borne of loyalty, determination, and an unyielding dignity.
I don't know whether there is anyone else at all who remembers my noble father with such sadness.
My mother died happily of a stroke in her seventies.
I always remember having a healthy respect for my grandmother.
I always knew mum loved me - tough, look-after-yourself love, as if she knew she wouldn't always be there.
My father died when I was 7. I was his favorite child, and he was my beloved father. I brought him along with me all through my life. Every elderly man has a bit of my father in him for me.
I can't say I ever loved my mother; I admired her.
My mother killed herself when I was 12. I won't complete that relationship. But I can try to understand her.