Recently my dad posted an unearthed radio interview with my Grandfather (for whom I am named.)
Last night I got a chance to listen to it and hearing his strong voice, the constant humor, and the intelligence that was his signature was both wonderful and painful. Wonderful for the gift of knowing him was and painful for the loss.
It seemed to have triggered a round of home-sickness in me and I could feel it creeping on before I went to bed last night, but it is really strong today.
It seems like every glance out of the cornor of my eye, every half-seen silhouette, every half heard conversation is a reflection of someone I know, someone I haven't seen in too long, someone I miss.
Frankly, it sucks.
You spend so much time thinking you have gotten used to it, and to be so strongly and abruptly reminded of it it both distracting and painful. I am lucky at that at least now I have friend down here to blunt the pain but still...