... my grandfather's big dairy farmer hands, fumbling for long minutes to close Grandma's necklace clasp. Love is him changing her earrings, bathing her body, pulling on her clothes and fixing her hair. Love is holding hands after over sixty years. Love is Grandpa never complaining once, never treating her with any less respect. Love is preserving Grandma's dignity, smoothing over confused conversations and gently guiding her in the direction of the washrooms.
What an example.
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