525,600 Minutes

As of yesterday my grandpa has been dead for one year. (I tried to think of a less blunt and possibly less harsh way of putting it, but it is what it is.)

"December 24, 9 pm, Easter Standard Time. I can't believe a year went by so fast."

Some days it feels like it's only been moments since I last spoke with my grandpa. Others, it feels as if he's been gone for so long he's a blurry memory in the back of my mind. My grandpa was the first person of any great consequence in my life to die and it's been interesting to see how this loss has affected my family. Some of us have grown closer and others have created a chasm of pain, anger and bitterness so large that one cannot see the people on the other side.

Grandpa knew he was going to die. He had cancer and had consciously decided not not fight it anymore. He was being treated by a hospice and was planning for the end of his life. He did not want a wake or a viewing. He choose to be cremated and to not have his ashes kept. We held a memorial service a week after he died and then he was gone. The mature, logical side of me knows that my grandpa is always with me - in my memories and in my heart. I know that I do not need a physical tangible reminder of his life. But then there is the purely emotional, often times illogical side of me that needs to have that physical connection - something I can hold, touch, see that will remind me - that will keep me from forgetting how important he was to so many people.

My grandpa always was, and will remain, primarily a mystery to me. He was a quiet man who worked hard. I got glimpses into his mind and his heart as we both aged and matured. Those times were few and greatly treasured.

I miss him.