My grandmother died late this fall, and since she was a devout believer, I know where she has gone. The pain fades with time, but there's an ache that lingers. An ache of memory and love and times shared together on this earth.
There's also an ache because with every death on earth, that sense that I am not home intensifies. There's something about knowing that others have gone home ahead of me that makes that homeward pull feel stronger. This world has its truly beautiful moments and memories, but that ache reminds me it's only for a season.
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