We Won't Miss You, Because You've Never Left

I've never been close to my grandfather, but death, like life, is a mysterious and magical thing.

I can't explain it, but there's a sudden knot inside me and it hurts.
Maybe the situation hasn't completely hit me yet, but I don't miss him. But the more I think about it, the more I realize: I'll never see him again.

Never hear his husky voice or loud laugh.
Never see his toothy smile.
Never laugh at his ShanDong accent.
Never walk with him to a bookstore.
Never hold his elbow as we go grocery shopping.
Never see his angry face when I throw away his cigarettes.
Never cry at his harsh scoldings.
Never feel his calloused hands on my head or shoulder.
Never hear him call my name.

When was the last time I saw him?
When was the last time I spent a day with him?

And when I see my mother cry wailing sobs while muttering, "Daddy!" over and over, my tears can't stop.

Grandpa's gone.

Fuck.