A Man Dies, and Takes a World With Him

My father-in-law, 90 years old, died last night. He managed to live to such old age with grace and dignity, with humility and modesty, despite the ailments he suffered from in his last years. I've never heard him complain, or say a bad word about anyone. Gentle to the end, he found his peace at last.
He was a holocaust survivor, like many of his generation. The war destroyed his community, family, and home. His disastrous years as a slave labourer in the Hungarian army did not turn him into a bitter man, but into a hard working, quiet and reflective individual.
In his death I find the sadness not only of the beloved father of my husband, but that of a world gone by. One that is slowly and continuously being forgotten, as one by one the people in whose memory the old world still lives are dying, and soon there will be no one left to remember it.
This was the world he knew: