It had never struck her till that moment. But the reality of it was too much to deny. Her child, if she ever had one, would grow up without a grandfather. There would be no stories of his college days, of how he pursued the child's mother's mother, no cheeses brought and tested, no pushing her on the swing in the park.
She'd grow up without knowing the best man the world had known. There would be a few photographs, yellowed with time; the familiar scent would still linger; there would be stories told heralding his greatness. But what he was in person, the way he danced with his friends, the way his eyes melted seeing his lovely wife, the serious look when working, she'd missed out on all of those.
It's such a shame that people go away from one's lives. Stories remain untold and taken to the grave, without anyone even understanding the gravity of the loss. Such a pity, I tell you. She'd grown up forgetting what she remembered.
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