My grandfather died yesterday morning. Shortly before I left for work, my mom got a call that my grandfather was unresponsive and not expected to live out the day. While I was at work---while my parents were preparing to drive down to Houston---another call came in that he'd passed away. My grandmother stayed with him for much of the afternoon, saying her farewells, and this morning my parents left to move her to a smaller, more manageable house.

I don't know quite how I feel, to be honest. Perhaps caught in the tide is the best way to describe it: my grief comes and goes in varying depths, with varied pull. I've never been close to this grandfather, so the persistent grief I feel is not grief for him, but for my mom and my grandmother and even my dad. I grieve their loss, not my own.

At the same time, there are moments when I realize how very, very strange my life is now that he's gone. All the little details that made up his presence in this life are aimless, unconnected, now. And that hurts with startling intensity. I know I'll see him again someday, and I know he's happy where he is, but I mourn his absence from *this* time and place.

.........................