It occurs to me that I never actually posted about this

Probably close to a year ago, my grandfather died.

Not my blood grandfather--one is still very cantankerously kicking, and one died when I was very small. But my grandmother on my father's side--the nifty branch of the family--remarried, at quite an age, after her husband's death, and that was the man I remember as my grandfather. He was a very old, slightly wry, good-humored WASP gentleman. And I do mean gentleman. I remember his very shiny shoes, and the way he'd dance very gently with people, and smile.

I did not see them often--probably about five or six times a year before they moved permanently to Florida, and only briefly a few times afterwards. At the time he died, peacefully in his nineties, I'm not sure I'd seen them in several years, and I'd fallen very out of touch--very guiltily out of touch--with them.

This came up because I just sat down, almost at random, finally, for the first time in more than a year, to write to my grandmother.

I barely knew what to say of her. I was terrified of this. Her second husband has died, and my other siblings flew down to Florida for the funeral--I could no more have afforded that, at the time, than I could have afforded Tony Stark's house--and she didn't hear a peep from me. The crazy homeless fantasy-hacker grandchild who never writes. All my communications issues, my correspondence blocks--they're at their absolute worst with her, particularly since my mother constantly nags me to write to her, particularly since his death.

I miss him. I see him in family photos and tear up. I was crying just now, at the end of a long rambly letter, writing about him.

I don't know if I ever even told anyone.