Iwas extremely close to my grandfather when I was younger. As things started getting progressively worse than what they were between my biological father and my mother, my grandfather was someone I really looked up to as a father figure. He was extremely wise, straightforward, and despite his difficulty expressing affection (hugs, kisses), if you were a person he truly cared for and loved, he’d find a way to let you know every day. We’re very much alike, so that was never a problem and one of the reasons why I think we got along well enough to never have at least one argument.

Anyway, we were always together. I won’t sugarcoat this, so heads up. Due to the fact that my grandmother is a great pain in the *ss, after a few years my mother decided enough was enough and none of us blamed her. With even my grandfather’s understanding, we moved away, and soon it had been about 10 or so years since I last saw him and phone calls were as close as we got. I traveled and stayed with them for a month after we found out they moved out of the states, my mom and her mother seemed to patch things up then and I’ve never been happier to see him again.

That’s where I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I was ecstatic to see him again after so long, but I admit I didn’t spend enough time with him as I should have. When he passed away, of course, that’s when it caught up to me. I felt extreme sadness, and guilt. I’m not much of a religious person, but not a day went by where I didn’t wonder what he thought of me. I don’t know why, but I never actually thought of him as “gone” and I usually blamed it on my grieving, which angered me because I knew it wasn’t something he’d like, so I did my best to forget about him.

Two years went by and almost every day I still found myself thinking about him and wondering if he would forgive me for not taking the chance when I had him right in front of me after 10 or so years. I wondered if he knew I still loved him.

Long story short, I had a shiat ton of questions. That was until one night, I had a weird dream where I visited him when he was admitted in the hospital. I knew he was dead in my dream, and something told me he did too, but we never pointed it out. In my dream, he looked completely fine despite him being in a hospital bed. He even moved his legs and arms (the left side of his body was paralyzed). We had a great time, playing card and board games, we laughed and over all just had a fantastic time, and never mentioned his death. I didn’t even ask why he was there, I just took the time when I had him there. I woke up feeling refreshed and happy after years.

I actually dreamed with him again this morning, I was writing him a letter for some reason. I can’t remember what I was writing, but when I woke up, I felt as if he was with me, and for a split second I completely forgot he was dead. It’s very strange, and for some reason I feel like this is his way of telling me he forgives me. Or am I still grieving harder than I thought?