This piece of writing made me think - a lot. I initially felt jarred by the author’s feelings about his grandparent’s deaths. And I have been examining my own relatives and friends who have died over the years to see if this author’s “theory” has any truth for myself. “Only someone that I used to love” is not a good description of my own dead. I take umbrage with the word “only”. It seems cold and dismissive. My “dead” seem much more alive within me, imprints of them carried in my cells, memories that I cherish that are awakened by certain smells, places, seasons, songs etc…