Gone, but never absent from the mind

During this past week, my grandfather has come into my thoughts a lot. He would have been 84 years old last Monday. The mourning process is interesting... when he first passed, I was really upset, and I took a couple of days off of work. It was hard to think he was actually gone, and things felt a little empty. My parents' house was unusually quiet. After a while, I just didn't think about it anymore. I didn't want to be sad or reminded of him at an inconvenient time (in front of students), or anything like that. I just pushed it back and didn't think about it. Lately, it's been weird. I keep having little tiny memories of him, and I keep thinking he's back at the house. Sometimes I am reminded that I'll have to tell my kids stories of him, and I just don't know if they'll ever understand how interesting or goofy of a character he was, and that makes me sad. It's also, however, a time where I smile when I remember. It's that time where I can think about him and talk about him without getting upset, and it's a time where I almost think of him as still being here. It's not denial; I know he's gone, but it's this comfort - maybe it's because I know he's in a better place. Thinking about all of this brings me to a poem that I used to teach to seniors:

"Holy Sonnet 10" by John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.