Grief is an intense and deeply personal response to loss. While it is often described as a sequence of emotions typically in the order of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, grief is complex, shifting, and unique to every individual who experiences it. 

My grandfather Bill, who I called Papa, was an intelligent, hardworking man who lived a long life of challenge and fulfillment.

He became one of the most important figures in my life. After I was born, he took my parents and me in when we were facing homelessness. He welcomed us into his home he had built himself from the ground up in the 70s, which is the same home we continue to live in today. 

When I was younger, Papa and I were inseparable. We spent time exploring places like aquariums, art museums, and the beach, creating countless memories. Each place has a piece of him etched in my mind. 

Even moments such as simply sitting at his feet while he worked in his garage felt meaningful. Although my family moved out when I was a toddler, I still visited him every weekend. In 2018 when I was around 10 years old, my parents made the decision to move back in, bringing me and my Papa closer than ever. 

As I grew older, our relationship naturally changed. We didn’t always know how to spend time together the way we once had, and our connection became quieter, but it never disappeared. 

Family outings over the weekends became our way of staying connected. Occasionally, when my parents went out for the night, Papa and I would have dinner together. Sometimes we ate at a fast food place, other times we cooked at home while watching a movie. 

These evenings I would spend with him became some of my favorite memories. The last time we spent the weekend together, right before he passed, we watched The Mask while eating frozen pizza.

February 18, 2026, began like any other Wednesday. I woke up for school around 5am, just as my Papa usually did. But that morning, his bedroom door stayed closed. I had thought nothing of it and continued my morning routine. 

When I returned home after school, he was still in bed. When my mom found him, there was nothing I could do but sit outside and watch as the police and ambulance handled the situation. In a single, unanticipated moment, everything had changed. 

In the days that followed, my family was forced to navigate both loss and responsibility. My mom, as the next of kin, took on the overwhelming task of managing Papa’s belongings, finances, and the household. Still, he had prepared as much as he could in advance, ensuring that even in his passing, he was taking care of us. 

As time passed, I noticed how grief revealed itself differently in each of us. My dad had taken on the responsibility of selling Papa’s belongings, including vintage toys that he had collected with the intention of selling them later on. 

It was hard for me to recognize how it had been affecting him, until he later opened up about his emotions, explaining how he felt as though he was packaging away pieces of Papa and giving them away. 

My mom found comfort in telling stories about her dad, sharing memories of Papa’s life – his teenage years, his independence, and the path he took before becoming the person we knew. 

He had lived freely in his younger years, but after meeting my grandmother and starting a family, he dedicated himself to building a better life. 

He pursued education, earning multiple degrees in science and technology, which now hang proudly on his bedroom walls among photos of people he loved most. He became a highly dedicated and respected person in his workplace, working as a Maintenance Engineer at Middlebury Institute of National Studies for 30 years, retiring in November 2023. He cared for the campus as if it was his own. 

He was a man of many talents, being particularly skilled in woodworking and beadwork, among other things. Every holiday, he would give my mom and I a personal hand-crafted piece of jewelry made by — as he would always say — his own blood, sweat and tears. 

As for me, grief is harder to define. Some days I feel normal, almost unaffected. While other days feel unbearably heavy, like carrying a constant heavy weight in my heart. 

I’ve come to understand that my numbness is my mind’s way of protecting me from overwhelming emotions. But when that numbness fades, everything returns at once, the memories of that day, the sound of my mom’s sorrow, and the realization of what was lost. 

Certain moments have become especially difficult. Turning 18 just two days after his passing was one of them. It marked a milestone in my life that he should have been there to witness. Moments like graduation, starting college — the same path he took himself. Those are times when his absence feels the most harrowing. 

Even through navigating loss, I remain grateful. I am grateful for the years I had with him, for the lessons he taught me, and for the role he played in shaping my life, forming me into the person I am now. 

He may be gone, but his impact is something I will carry with me every day for the rest of my life.