Today marks two years since my grandfather finally passed away. Cancer had been claiming him for a year and he finally lost the battle. I was at Pennsic at the time, and was actually up, battling mother nature's down pouring of rain, at the exact moment he passed away. Perhaps she was wailing out her agony over the loss of another life. Even now, two years distant, it still hurts to think of him being gone. Before the cancer set in, he still had much life in him, and it didn't seem possible that he wouldn't be around for many years to come. It still seems like a bad dream...that if I just shake my head vigorously, I will realize that he's at his home and I really need to get off my butt and go visit him. Ask him about his life, all of the things that he did, etc. It's too late to ask now, and I won't torture my grandmother by asking her. I am sorry I didn't do it when I should have.
I miss you, Grandpop. So much. I am not sure what kind of "after death" I believe in, but I DO hope that somewhere there is an awareness of your loved ones down here, missing you. That you can see the granddaughter you never met, and the grandson you didn't have much time to get to know.