Swedish Chef part 2

In my household, the men cook. This is how it has been in my paternal family for generations. Not only is a household duty for the men in our family, but it has become a hobby and a passion for some of us.
Throughout my life, i have known my father's greatest creative outlet to be cooking. Although he is an artist, he makes money off of commissions and has little time for free composition. Cooking is an art that doesn't require too much time and has allowed my father to experiment with new ideas or concepts. He will always try new recipes and play around with new ways of cooking old ones. 
The only other chefs alive in my paternal family are my father, my grandfather Sune and my uncle Jens (yes he is also named Jens). My grandfather and uncle are both also artists. My Grandfather worked with artistic carpentry all his life and my uncle is a painting and photography professor. When not in a kitchen, these men might be found quarrelling and tearing open old wounds from childhood in vicious arguements. When preparing a dish together, however, all ill will is forgotten. Cooking is therapeutic for the men of the Salander family. The three of them work cooperatively and move around the kitchen like a team of professional dancers who seem incredibly focused on the task at hand despite the jokes, old stories and general warm-heartedness that accompany these sessions.
My grandfather displays his patriarchy at the stove as he lectures my father and uncle on their cookery like a teacher to a pair of schoolboys. The two middle aged men listen to their father, taking mental notes, then right their mistakes and continue their work. This knowledge allows him to restore his fatherly role and provide wisdom to men who are already well into life. The two brothers listen to him without protest and follow his instructions carefully. "Sune is the Master" says uncle Jens.
 I, being the third generation of cook, am an amateur. I still have much to learn from the Swedish chefs. That is not to say I am particularly unskilled, just unpractised. I thoroughly enjoy cooking, especially alongside my Grandfather when visiting him. My poor Swedish and his poor English create a barrier between the two of us that is seemingly broken when I am helping him prepare Schnitzel or Cordon Bleu. He'll display his inherit silly nature, a mirror image of my father's, by interrupting my dicing of vegetables with a Frisbee toss of a flat-bread circle. I have learned more about my grandfather and what I hold in common with him from the fun we've had in the kitchen together than the broken conversations we've had. I've learned that my Grandfather is a dedicated and focused man who is also a charismatic goof and exhibitionist almost to a fault. Sune is truly the master of the kitchen.
 Past the threshold of this room, Sune loses his aura of authority and we are once again reminded of his feebleness and growing age. In the kitchen he is king and unlike his eyesight and sense of balance, his prestige as a chef can never fade.
Sune is 92 and is currently in the hospital in Gavle , Sweden as we speak and is fading fast. His health has been deteriorating at an increased rate in the last month or two. My father believes he will pass away before our annual visit in August. Even if this is not so, I don't think he will be able to fill the  role he had because his vertigo, frailty and loss of eyesight will live him practically bedridden. My grandfather's connection to his sons through food and the art of cooking are the adhesives that hold my paternal family together. I don't know what the absence of this will mean for my father or his relationship with his brother.
For me, this is truly devastating because although my grandfather and I have shared some truly intimate moments the language barrier still separates the two of us. I have not heard his fantastic tales nor recounted old memories with him. It is painful to listen to him speak so eloquently and watch the rest of my family be completely enthralled in his oratory when I can only understand a few phrases. Of course, my father retells them to me in English but I am reminded "they're just not the same, I can't do it like Sune can" or "its better in Swedish" I feel guilty and left out of a grand experience. But I am reminded that any time I wanted to view my grandfather, the glue of my paternal family, In his fully glory all I need do is go to the kitchen and watch him work.