My Grandparents. Raylene + Bryan. Known as Granny + Papa by most.

This October they will have been married 60 years. They have four children, 11 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren.

They have not lived a very remarkable life, by conventional standards. They haven't travelled around the world. They haven't fought in wars. They haven't had powerful or important jobs, or saved lives. They don't have lots of money, or a fancy car. They have a very simple life.

They live in a tiny one-bedroom cottage with a tiny dog that malts hair continuously. They have five chickens and my Granny also feeds ants honey from a jar - she swears by this, as she says it keeps them out of the house. She is funny and loud and has a face full of freckles, which she hates. She loves the "Spaniards" and follows intently along with world of professional cycling. She likes to dance to Earth, Wind & Fire, and Barry Manilow.

Granny has suffered much loss through her life. In 1944, at just six weeks of age she was given up for adoption. Her birth mother, Winifred, at the time lived in a nuns home for young unmarried women & breastfed her baby, even sneaking into the nuns rooms at night to feed her daughter. Granny was adopted by a loving Catholic family, and she says she knows how much she was loved, and felt that same love in return. It wasn't until she had given birth to her own daughter in 1965 that she found out she was adopted. She later met Winifred, a woman who never married and never had more children. They connected a couple of times in the 70s and then never again.

My grandparents met at a 'Ball' in Pt. Pirie 1961. Not long after, their first son was born at home, - she still lived at home with her parents, Granny didn't know she was pregnant. They weren't even married. My Papa arrived at her door that night to take Granny to the drive-in. Instead he found he had a son. They were married shortly after. They went on to have two daughters - good breeders, Granny would say.

Granny gave birth to her fourth child, a son, Lyndon in 1970. A fun-loving boy, who liked to ride motorbikes. He was 18 when the police knocked on my grandparents door to ask them to identify his body. My mum, his sister, flew home for his funeral, she was 22 and had a four month old baby; me.

In truth, I don't believe my Papa every recovered from the death of his youngest child. All my life we have spoken about "Uncle Lynny", we have had photos of him in frames around the house. But never once have I heard my grandfather speak of the son he lost. Granny says she remembers his wolf-like cry in the backyard of their home after hearing the news.

My Papa is a very clever man. He can make anything with his hands. He built himself a boat. A real life-size boat. I remember it sitting in the shed while he was making it, I remember the smell of the paint. We spent New Years Eve 1999 drifting on the tide on that boat in Wallaroo - though, my sisters and I were all sound asleep by midnight. I have lots of furniture in my home that he has made. Our kitchen table - that he made for my mum when we were kids, two bedside tables, a tallboy, and even a single bed, with a cut out the shape of a tulip at the head, that he made for me when I was 12. When I was a very little girl he made me a treasure box. It was about the size of a shoebox. He hand painted pictures all over it - cinderella in her pumpkin, miss muffet eating her curds and whey. He has made a treasure box for all three of my daughters too.

My Grandparents spent their lives working hard, for very little. They have spent many holidays in caravans, even traveling Australia with the four teenage children in the 1980s. They retired and lived in Wallaroo for a decade or so. We had many holidays with them there. I know all of us grandkids loved visiting them. Fishing with Papa, jetty jumping, eating Granny's homemade biscuits.

Papa played the tuba in a brass band, and for as long as I can remember he has played, and still plays, lawn bowls. Though, just six months ago he was diagnosed with Alzheimers. And his health, in particular his cognitive abilities, have declined so rapidly. Just months ago he was in his shed building and making. Today? He can barely string a sentence together. His vocabulary mostly consists of single words, with 'yes' being his most favoured. It seems like the words, or memories are right there, but he just can't get the words out. I don't think my Granny has fully understood what this means for him, or for her.

During the making of this film, I had noticed how much Papa seemed to need his notebook. He had pages full of words. News headlines, his collection of coins, and every single person he knew from the bowling club. One day while he was trying to find the words, I asked him if he'd like a pen & paper to write something down. He sat with a pen in his hand for more than 15 minutes. This is what he wrote:

I wright our bowls and two bowls and many bowls the many bowls and for many and men two for 10 bowls

I wanted to make this film for them, for all of us. To remember them. I phoned Granny one day in February to invite myself over for a cup of tea. Of course dear, she said. I turned up with my camera ready to go. I thought about how once they're gone, all those stories and memories are gone with them. If we don't ask the questions now, all of those stories will be lost. Sadly, mostly everything is now gone from Papa's memory. After that first session, I just knew I needed more. And I wanted to include all of my cousins too. So, I organised a morning tea. And all 13 great-grandchildren were there, just three grandchildren were missing, and their three children were there too.

It is a testament to them and to their love of family for why so many of us thought it important enough to cancel our Sunday morning plans and go to Granny & Papa's for a cup of tea that day. The morning was filled with children, laughter, warm embraces, and even Papa in the shed making a cricket bat out of timber scraps for the kids. I only wish I had captured on film the kids playing cricket in the garden afterwards.

I went back a third time because my sister hadn't been able to be in the family filming session, and she really wanted to be part of it. And this time felt big. And important. And I'm so glad I was there to capture what I did. My sister asked to look at old photos. It was such a beautiful way of joining the past and the present. So fluidly. So profoundly.

Papa recognised a photo of Lyndon. And so begins the heartbreaking story of his short life. I was so sure Papa was going to share some distant memory, which is why I filmed his face for as long as I did. Nothing came, but it was powerful nonetheless.

My forth session was unplanned. It was Granny's 79th birthday and I thought I'd bring my camera along - just in case. There are lots of beautiful moments, capturing her great-grandchildren. It's very special.

My Grandparents have not lived a very remarkable life. But what they have is so much heart and love. And lots and lots and lots of family. They are so truly and so deeply loved by so many of us, and that's truly remarkable.

a Documentary of [their Remarkable] Life