My father's parents died less than two months apart, neither knowing of each other's death. There is something tragic, yet beautiful about that. Grandma, who was at a nursing home because of sudden decline in her health, went first. Grandpa, 90 years old, in the hospital fighting for his life after abdominal surgery, died less than two months later. We never told him, but he must have known. The last time I saw him, only weeks before he died, he seemed to be feeling better, he could see more clear, and he recognized me. He even asked me questions. And that is how I will remember him: strong, caring, and brave 'till the last minute of his life. I miss him.
Decorated WWII Hero. He lost his eye in battle.
My other grandfather died when I was 7, but I remember his love and kindness. My grandmother, who now lives in NY with my parents, mourns him daily. Their love for each other was inspirational to say the least. Here they are with their three children. My mom is at the bottom left. She was a cute kid.
This isn't about wedding photography, but it's about love. Love until Death and Love after Death. I admire their strength and commitment to each other, and I hope to die, at an old age, loving Nicole more than ever.
