Ever since last June I've kind of just...
...
Today walking home from class it hit me, really hit me, officially, fully, completely... that my Grandma Shirley is dead.
And up until now I've just been... uncomprehending that she's not still there. Until now I've just kind of assumed she will be there the next time I go home.
But she wont.

Is this what grieving feels like?

I want to be angry. I want to scream at God, or a goddess, or the universe, or whatever cosmic force that this isn't fair.

I want my Grandma back.

But I know that this is nobody's fault. I'm not religious enough to blame some higher being, I'm scientific enough to know that everything and everyone eventually dies.
If I had to blame anyone, I would have to blame my Grandma for being a smoker and giving herself lung cancer.

But I can't be mad at her.
She was my favorite grandparent.

I don't think she would want me to be crying for her either.

But there has to be something... eternal out there. Right?
Because I refuse to believe that she is gone forever.
I refuse to believe that the essence of her doesn't know that I miss her. I refuse to believe that the hundreds of monarch butterflies that I saw over the course of the summer don't mean something.
I refuse to believe that she doesn't know I still love her. I know she knew.