Today she told me a story about when I was a little girl. She said I always called my Granddad by his name, Sam, and he loved that I was a 'copper top' like him (the only other red-head in our large family).
She said he knew when we would be visiting so he used to stand at the gate, leaning against it while smoking his pipe to wait for us. At the top of the road she used to say to me, "Go on then, your Granddad is waiting", and I would run down the road toward him shouting "Sam! Sam!".
I love that little tale, I loved my Grandad a lot and still miss him even though he has been gone almost 20 years now. I love the image of him with his almost bald head, lean frame and smiling face waiting by the gate to catch the tiny, red headed, freckled face me as I ran toward him.
Memories are valuable little diamonds, plucked from the darkest recesses of your mind to make the day that little brighter.