I remember discussing grieving processes in our university classes; the lecturer talking of grieving stages not being necessarily - or usually - consecutive. Rather, people move up and down through them, backwards and forwards and then backwards again.
I have thought a lot about the... dying I witnessed in the hospital a few weeks ago, about the burial I didn't get to go to, about the cemetery I still haven't visited. I'm a little... angry at the moment.
A natural part of the grieving process, I've been told.
I watch the family dig their way through massive amounts of stuff left behind - church trusts, farming accounts, boxes of wool to be spun, clothes never worn - and I think, "Really?"
I know you were afraid to face your mortality, the way you kept postponing thinking about the fact you were growing weaker, clumsier, but... really?
It never occurred to you that the stuff you didn't want to deal with, now your family need to deal with?
Ehh... Grieving a granddad now gone.
I miss him.