This past Monday I attended my Grandpa’s funeral in Saskatoon. Seeing my dad break down crying was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to experience. Growing up 1700 miles away from my extended family, I only saw my grandpa once every few years so we weren’t especially close. That being said, I knew he was overflowing with love for me and everyone else he came in contact with. He was always joking and smiling and telling me, “I love ya”—he even came all the way out to my high school graduation even though his pronounced Parkinson’s disease made traveling difficult.
When I first found out about his passing, I tried to find a photo of me and him. The only ones I could find were the dark, blurry photos my brother took of us dancing together at my cousin’s wedding two and half years ago, the last time I saw him. We were moving too quickly, and I was laughing too much for the camera to fully capture the moment. But those crappy photos mean so much to me now as I mourn the loss of the deeper relationship I never had, the pain my dad must feel after losing his remaining parent, the lightness which has left this world a little bit darker. I love you grandpa, I’ll miss you.