I know this pain, and mine comes from a similar place. My grandma lived with my family for my entire life, and she was always there for me, sometimes before my

I know this pain, and mine comes from a similar place. My grandma lived with my family for my entire life, and she was always there for me, sometimes before my parents. I didn't call her as frequently as I would have liked during college (or my parents, for that matter), but I have atoned for those sins, and got better as I finished school and started my adult, not-living-at-home life. After her first heart attack, I called her twice a day until she was home, then nightly since, with rare exception. We were both the night owls of the family, so talking to her was how I ended my day. She passed just over a year ago, and I still get overwhelmingly sad when I consider that every day is one longer than the the longest since I've talked to her. Saying I miss my grandma puts it in too easy a light. I keep an alarm set on my phone for the time of the night when I would call her. It's not the same, obviously, but it's a little time set aside to think of her. I honestly don't know how to deal with it, either. I think being 29 before losing your first really close loved one is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I got nearly 30 years with my grandma - time I wouldn't trade for anything. On the other hand, I'm a grown man who can't deal with death. I think you're right - a big part of it is just continuing to move forward. Because, like it or not, the world doesn't stop spinning, even though it feels like it just did. One last anecdote - when we knew grandma was in the hospital and probably never leaving, I went to pick up my cousins and take them to say goodbye. We stopped to get some flowers, and I remember looking at everyone at the store and thinking how could normal the rest of the world felt, whereas I felt like my world was ending. Alas, it doesn't. Sometimes you cry. Sometimes you laugh. But you never stop.