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The Man


The man is old now, with wrinkles creasing his tired, worn face. His cheeks are sunken, the skin on his face sagging from the ungraciousness of the years. The eyes are steel-gray, glassy much of the time, but still twinkling brilliantly whenever he hears or says something he considers clever.

His frail, emaciated body seems too feeble to support his lengthy frame, the flesh having withered away from his limbs and torso. He has arms that are not much thicker than his wrists; the flesh which is left is without a trace of firmness. His hands are very lean and bony, with the jutting veins easily discernible beneath the flimsy hide.

When he attempts to put a spoon to his mouth while eating, his hand trembles and shakes, which is noticeably upsetting and frustrating to him, and he disgustingly casts the spoon to the floor.

Often his chin is home for the white, stiff stubble that is his beard, elongating his face, and giving him an even greater appearance of gauntness. His hair is silvery-gray, brushed straight back off his forehead.

As he walks slowly across the room, his bony hands reach out for the support of the wall to steady himself, and his feet seem to shuffle across the floor in short, halting steps. He doesn't stand erect anymore; his six-foot-tall frame arches ever so slightly.

The voice is soft now, but still firm and commanding when he wants it to be, and often a hint of hoarseness is detectable as he speaks. Still, it doesn't matter how hard his body resists him, for this man's spirit, pride, and determination will never abandon him.



In Memory of My Grandfather

July 24, 1908 - February 5, 1981