I did not feel sorrow when my grandfather died.  I felt fear, and a great aching emptiness.  The emptiness closed itself around my heart the instant I heard the tearstained voice of my sister on the phone; I was suddenly alone, and filled with fear.

The sorrow came, too, but so many years later that it seemed more an inconvenient guest.  One day, on seeing his smiling picture, I was surprised to find myself longing to tell him even the most mundane stories and hear him joke about life.   And for the first time, his death stood clear in my mind; it was an absence, not an ending.