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When things
go missing 


Loss, like a seismic shift, throws routines into disarray, leaving us scrambling for purchase. My grandmother's absence, a gaping hole in the tapestry of their almost seventy-year union, left my grandfather adrift. His familiar morning toast, replaced by the cold tang of yogurt, felt like a silent rebellion against the ghost of her presence. The daily 5k walk, a tentative step towards a new normal, held the tremor of grief in its rhythm.

Witnessing these subtle shifts, I couldn't help but be drawn in. His search for stability, a yearning to carve a path without her, resonated with my own quest for meaning in the wake of loss. His story, a mirror reflecting my own routines, became more than just observation; it was an invitation.

But stories, like empathy, shouldn't be a one-way street. So, I opened the door to collaboration, inviting my grandfather to be not just the subject, but a co-creator. This partnership, I hope, will offer him more than just visibility; it will be a space for healing, for sharing the weight of loss and finding solace in the act of creation.

Our journey, like his morning walk, will be one step at a time, navigating the uneven terrain of grief and the tentative hope of a new normal. We'll gather fragments of his story, weaving them into a tapestry that reflects not only his loss, but also the resilience of the human spirit, the transformative power of connection, and the possibility of finding meaning in the spaces left behind.