It’s been one year since my Grandpa passed away.
It’s been even longer since the last time I held his hand, or looked into his eyes or spoke with him and I still can’t believe I don’t get to do those things anymore.
After Grandpa died, I cried myself to sleep every night for several weeks after. I would usually hold it together during the day but as soon as it got dark, I’d start melting down. I remember saying to Tom, “I just don’t think I can ever get over missing someone this much.” But gradually I learned to manage the hurt. I learned to feel grateful that even though my Grandpa wasn’t here, he also wasn’t suffering anymore. I’ve heard so many people say that grief is a process with good days and bad days, and I have found that to be true in every way.
He has a headstone now, and that makes me happy. It has a picture of a fisherman and his dog and I think he’d love it.
One of the first things I thought of after Tom proposed was that Grandpa couldn’t come to our wedding and I instantly felt heartbroken. I know that for the rest of my life, even in the happiest of times, there will be a hole.
I miss sharing a meal with him at his kitchen table and hearing him laugh.
Sometimes I ask him for guidance when I have a problem and I think about what advice he might give me.
I read somewhere once that in the afterlife you always look like you did when you were in your prime, so to speak. I had a dream a few months back that I was driving down a dirt road and I saw a young man in a baseball jersey running in the field next to it. I pulled over to see if he needed a ride and when he turned to face me, it was my Grandpa, but a youthful version, one that I had only seen in pictures. We shared a happy embrace and then he said goodbye and kept on jogging through the grass. It still makes me emotional to think about because he was so free, unencumbered by age or illness, and that gives me comfort.
I miss him, today and every day.