Opa.

I am very lucky, I have wonderful Grandparents that I have lived near for most of my life, they were a big part of our life growing up and we made wonderful memories with them, staying in their house by the beach.

Aging is never easy, nor kind, and my Opa recently had a stroke.  We were very lucky and it was only minor but served as a wake up call for me that our time together here isn't forever.  This person that poured so much love into my childhood, and is so special to me is entering the sunset of his life.  It hurts to see him slow his pace, give up driving at night and no longer take walks along the beach because the oxygen tubing won't stretch that far.

Those once tight, tanned, muscular arms of my Opa who used to throw me in the air, lift me up to reach the branches of the trees looking for lizards, are now weak, requiring help to open jars and screw lids on.  The stories he used to drive us mad with, thick with the German accent he has never lost after countless decades living in Australia, are forgotten, he is either too tired, or can't remember the ending anymore.

One certainty though is that when I bring Otto and Hugo to visit, the light and happiness is there again, you can see past the wrinkles, oxygen tubing and hearing aids to the man who once held his own babies for the first time.  Who saw me journey from helpless newborn into a mother myself.

A Grandparents love is special, I knew that at any moment I could call them up and instantly feel better.  They love me unconditionally, they had to, my first instrument was the Kazoo, and my favourite thing was to give long drawn out performances with it.

I have so many special memories, but as theirs fade, it is my job to keep the storybook open, to retell the tales etched into my memory, to remind them how special my childhood was, all thanks to them.