My Poppa (maternal grandfather) died in the hospital last night, one of his sons by his side.
Not sure exactly how I feel about it right now. It's sunk in, but my first thoughts were "are you okay, Mom?". The really really weird thing is that last night, at 10pm, I had the strangest need to watch Big Fish, regardless of the fact that doing so kept me up til midnight. This morning I woke up 50 minutes before I usually do, and that was when my mom called to tell me. I'm not saying it's prophetic, or what-have-you. It's just... I don't know.
I'm not sure what's happening now. I'm working from home (or trying to -- bloody VPN client). Pele definitely senses something. Though she's often a very affectionate cat, she's in comfort mode: quietly brushing up against my leg, hopping on my lap and rubbing her head against my chest.
I'm not grieving because Poppa is very much a part of me; I don't feel he's gone. Physically, sure. But of what true significance is that? There's no sudden emotional or memorial vaccuum as a result. He's still there, present in my life simply because he is. People don't go away, they don't disappear; they simply manifest in diverse ways at different times. I just can't think of it any differently, and I suppose Dr. Fox is to thank for that for pointing me towards Thich Nhat Hanh and his Buddhist teachings. Though I haven't been too emotional for other deaths in the family, though the last time someone died, I was only 13 or 14, which is not exactly an emotional apex.
All I know is that I have to be there for my mom and my nanna. The issue now is what does my nanna do? She really shouldn't stay in that house. I'm thinking she'll stay with my parents, as their new house (ready in 5 weeks) has a nanny sweet, as it were.
That's what gets me right now. The "now what happens" questions, the in-flux situation.