Sometimes, after a person passes on, the realization doesn't truly come.
After my Grandpa... you know... and honestly still now, I just feel numb. I still haven't come into terms with death, I still feel like he's still here, somewhere. 

But sometimes the grief hits like a sudden storm, and I suddenly remember that he is beyond reach, I can't see him, it's impossible, hopeless. I remember his final battle. 

I would give anything, anything, to play one more game of Farkle (He loved that game) with him, just talk with him one more time. 

I remember the last day I ever saw him. The cancer had gotten into his brain. He didn't wake up when I was there. I don't know if he even could. I think we knew, then, what would happen, but I, being stubborn, refused to give up hope.

That night I prayed for a miracle.

(If you think this is cheesy, or overly dramatic, you're welcome to stop reading by the way)

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