Two weeks after my grandfather’s funeral, the house remained thick with the weight of absence.
The living room seemed haunted by echoes of laughter and gentle admonishments; the worn couch sagged exactly where he had once perched to read the paper, coffee in hand; the kitchen retained the faint scent of his favorite meals, subtle traces of a life meticulously lived and quietly sustained.
Every hallway, every room, carried shadows of the man who had raised me, and yet, he was gone, leaving behind a void that seemed both impossibly vast and unfillable.
