Senile

Her white hair was the thing I loved most. It was what brought her back from the pain, the memory of me. That's the thing that I'm proudest of saying. Giving her one last look at her long life, riddled with countless medical problems was so incredibly important. I will remember her half closed eyes and remembering smile for the rest of my days.

His salt and pepper hair was telling of his life. Him always in his workshop, slowly forgetting movements and memories, until he couldn't pour water into a kettle anymore. Without the constant presence of her, he quickly worsened. The loneliness of an empty house, having to be constantly reminded that his wife died was torture.

One grandparent gone, one not even remembering his own children. The senility of old age -of growing old together- never has a happy ending.