My great-grandpa died a few days ago. It really hit me hard. It was his time to go but it still kind of feels unfair. I don't think anyone could really understand how much I loved him and how much I looked up to him. I remember him from when I was little. He was so kind and would just get so excited to see him. As we get older we grow wiser and more refined. But what I failed to realize was that it could stop at some time. That he could forget who I am. That goodbye becomes irrelevant. Home is where the heart is, it's true. And I still believe he still knows where his heart is. I have lost what was never meant to be lost. And it happens so quietly, I didn't even notice. But it's not something you expect. Today, what is broken, no one can fix.
His immortality in my eyes instantly dissolved.
I start to forget French humor.
At my first encounter with death, I realized that everyone will one day be gone. That he is be gone. But no matter what he will always be in my heart. I love you grandpa.