By the time I married in my mid-30s, there were just two old fellas left. And when I fell pregnant, I made the trip to tell my beloved grandfather the exciting news. The next generation was about to be born -- finally a first great-grandchild for them all to love, just like they had always loved me. I couldn't wait to introduce my grandfather to my new baby and to see his face -- and to see my baby taking him in, smiling up at him; knowing that he or she was with family. Just a month before my baby was born, my grandfather died. He was so modest, so self-effacing, I'm sure that he half-felt that his deteriorating health would be a burden on the family and that he needed to make way for next generation. At his funeral, I stood up, with my large belly, to pay tribute to him. It was the least I could do -- struggling through the difficulty of speaking, to honour him. And now, just one month after the birth of my second child, my great uncle, my only remaining elderly relative has died. Up until late in my pregnancy, I would visit him with my toddler. Even amid his ever increasing aches and pains, he maintained his sense of humour and loved to do his best to amuse her.?On our last Father's Day picnic by the lake, he sat with a rug on his knees in a wheelchair, a shrunken version of