The person who probably made the strongest impression on me in my life was my Grandfather. To me he seemed like a boundless fountain of songs, of jokes, of words that made you smile and lift your spirits. On difficult days I think of him, and I wonder how he did it. How did he stride through life, day in day out, exuding so much warmth? How did he manage to live though the horrors of war, through his personal pain, without so much of a complaint, always a song on his lips? What gave him strength?
And I had to think of a character from a children’s book, who, after experiencing extreme sorrow, started a candy factory, because he wanted to make something sweet for the world. The sweets he made were magical: they tasted of strawberry and rootbeer, but - sorrow being their secret ingredient - also of melancholy. To different people, they taste of people leaving, of jail; of everyone's respective sorrows. Needless to say, I was extemely fascinated with these sweets from the moment I read about them. I wanted to taste them. I wanted to build my own factory.
I didn’t see the connection. I didn’t see how my Grandfather had build his own candy factory. I didn’t even realize it has been passed over to me.
I can truthfully say, was I to try one of these magic lozenges right now, they’d taste like all the moments I wasted, that I could have spent with him instead.