I’ve been wanting to write about my grandfather for a few weeks now, but haven’t made the time and I haven’t known what really to say.

He was a wonderful man, and we all miss him terribly.

A lot of miscellaneous things were just odd or funny. My grandma has enough ham to last her the rest of her life. The burial was strangely anticlimactic after the funeral service at the church. The planning meeting for the family was a wonderfully cooperative and positive experience.

It also strikes me that you really could use the dying grandfather excuse to get any number of days off work. It’s not like you’re going to need a doctor’s note. And in this day and age, remarried families can end up with a virtually endless supply of grandparents.

The other day I made a very morbid joke about grandpa being gone, and I regretted it the instant it came out of my mouth. When I thought more about it later, I realized that it made me feel so bad not because I think grandpa would have minded (I think he’d have laughed if he’d been there), but because it forcefully brought his absence back to me, as opposed to most of the time when you’re just background-aware of the fact.

It is impossible not to miss him. I could keep talking for pages.

Apologies, everyone. This is a terribly depressing topic and I really don’t mean to inflict it on you. I just wanted to get it noted. I’ll try to bury this entry under a new one as quickly as possible.