The Flower In My Garden

My Grandfather is probably the strongest, most hardened man I have ever known. He was the primary carer to my Grandmother in her latter years. As the Altzheimers worsened, the harder my Grandfather found it to look after her. For the few years before she passed must have been the worst for him, the only place she could physically navigate was between the bathroom and her armchair so leaving the house was always an issue for him. He cared so much for her, that it had a sort of withdrawal effect on him when she finally passed away. Leaving him somewhat stranded and empty. Usually his days filled with a constant stream of things to do, now it was just him and his own thoughts, which he hadn’t had in a very long time.
This photograph denotes the longing that my Grandfather tackles every day. He has constant reminders of my Grandmother and always refers to her as ‘the flower in my garden’. Although when he talks to me about her, he always speaks of earlier days, before the Altzheimers and the caring, when my Grandmother was a younger independent woman.

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