When I was attending art school some twelve or so years since, I submitted one of my paintings for the yearly auction. Proceeds went either totally to the school, or were split half and half between the school and the artist. I needed the money, so chose to go the half and half route. When I went home, and told my grandparents about it, my grandfather gave me the amount of the cheque, and wanted to frame the cheque itself, and keep it as a memento.
It is memories like this that make it that much harder to remember him and his death, because I spent most of my life thinking there was no love in that house, only to find these scattered moments of pride and affection.