My grandfather died today.
I never really knew him.
He was just a gray haired, smiling man --
the one in the pictures my mom has.
I knew he fought in World War II,
dropping bombs on the Japanese,
and an alcoholic after that.
I knew he had two wives and three kids.
I knew he didn't believe in God.
I can count on one hand
the number of times
that he and I met face to face.
But I wrote him letters,
and he wrote back, sometimes
how he was so proud of me,
and how I would do great things,
but never anything about him.
My grandfather died today.
My mom doesn't know, yet.
He's gone, and she still thinks he's alive.
To her, he'll die another day
even though the official date of death
will be 18 February 2011.
But for me,
he died today.
I know I should feel sad.