My grandfather’s name was Harry Leigh Dennison. For writing purposes he will be referred to as Harry. I was two years old when he died. His last Christmas was just weeks before he died.
This post is a photo journal of Harry’s Last Christmas.
These are the last photos of Harry. He died when I was two (and a half) years old.
What my aunt has in her lap were a type of plastic building blocks that fitted into each other. They were varying shapes and colors, rather a dim recollection. There were jointed pieces, elbows.
Ring a bell with anyone?
One of the things I did on my 2013 Road Trip was to visit my grandparents’ graves, both sets of them.
Harry and Florence, are buried in the town they settled in when they came from Nova Scotia in 1923.
The same town in which I raised my children (the place we lived the longest).
Aunt B is buried with them. They are all waiting to welcome us to heaven.