I was doing the dishes last summer, when the phone rang. It was my mom calling to say that my grandpa had died. I stood quietly, letting the water run down the drain, waiting for the sadness that was supposed to overcome me- but it didn't come. I actually felt guilty; shouldn't I cry when my grandpa dies?

Two nights later I couldn't sleep. I crept into the living room, trying not to wake my sleeping husband and children, and turned on the computer. I opened up a word processor and began haphazardly writing about Grandpa.

How he loved to tell war stories. How he spit food everywhere when he ate. How he loved to sleep on the "fructon" and watch "HMO" on TV. He was very loud. He gave big hugs. When we were kids, he always brought us junk food. How I wished that at the end of his life, I could feel like I really knew him.

I poured everything out onto that computer screen- the good and the bad, the funny and the tragic all jumbled like a madwoman's ramblings. And then I realized the tears were running down my face and I was finally mourning the loss of my grandpa; because whatever he was and was not he was that- my grandpa- and I would have given so much to hug him one last time.

Learn more about this author, Goldberry.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Reflections: Loss of a grandparent?
We want to hear your view. Write now!