Death really makes you think

With the recent death of my grandfather, I realized many things; one being how little I knew of him. I knew the facts like date of birth, name, height, health disorders... but I never knew his favorite food, music, thoughts... absolutely nothing. He was a man of few words but his eyes hinted at deep thoughts. I should have asked him what he thought when he would stare while sitting in his porch swing, but I didn't. His gait was unmistakable with the jingle of keys he always had at his waist. I never knew what he looked like without a hat until he was in the coffin. I never knew what he thought of me aside from his short remark of "how sweet" I was. I never knew if he knew of the trouble I had caused or that I stole mangos from his backyard. He never gave away if he know about my brother sneaking behind the house to smoke. He was so passive, I never saw him mad or upset. He never raised his voice, not ever, but then again that might have been because my grandmother spoke for the both of them. I am now left with many unanswered questions and I grieve that loss. I rejoice that he is reunited with my grandmother, I am not sure if he is happy about that or not, but all the same he is freed from his sickly body and is eternally at peace (I hope). Grandpa, I am sorry for not spending as much time as I should have with you. Please know that I loved you in my own reserved way and forgive me if I don't please you. I pray that you rest in peace. Don't let Grandma give you too much hell.