Klara Lindner

That is my grandpa. He could balance a full glass of beer on his belly and once won against the UdSSR champion in table tennis, which practically made him the best player in the world. Opa broke a leg last winter and then slowly started to disappear, limping back to his bed earlier and earlier during our family lunches. That afternoon, he got up again to join us for a glass of champagne—and joked with us about getting old. I didn’t know that it was the last time I would see him.