Bob's grandmother died last week, from hosptial, to coma, to death, to funeral, all in such a short breath of time.
In a week, from alive and well, to buried. (I can never quite grasp that)
She was 80. Bob's refrain is one of shock, and of not having enough time, of thinking he had more time to go see her, to do this, and that, and talk. I feel bad for him. ( We believe those we love will always be alive, it seems impossible that they could ever die.)
It is odd for me as I realize how little I knew this woman, how little I know a whole big part of my husband's life. We have been together for over 20 years, but someone who meant/means so much to him, I know not at all (I met her three times maybe).

When he was little his grandma watched him and his brother every day, then once school started he spent his childhood summers with her, including his teenage years. They were so dear to each other, so fond.
Over and over
Warm childhood memories come spilling out of him, in place of the tears he is trying so hard not to shed.