Grieving and Loss

They say 'grieving and loss' as if they are two separate items. Perhaps they are. I started my grieving process five weeks before my Dad died. I suppose a part of me knew after his accident that I would lose him. Perhaps to grieve all at once would have been too painful? Could it be that my Creator knew that when one was given such a gift as I had been given in my Dad, that the loss ~ the grieving could only be endured in stages. You see, my Dad was ~ is ~ a saint. Oh, I don't expect to ever see him canonized as a 'saint.' Still, that is indeed what he is.
You know how when we lose someone we love, we think so often, "Oh, I've got to tell (Dad) that," or "I'll ask (Dad). He'll know." Or perhaps we think, "I wish (Dad) could see this ..."
So this is where I am. I know I'm neither the first nor the last to feel this ache. Yet, I feel a need to share this burden if it is to ever lift, even a smidgen.
So, I share the following free verse with any and all who are interested or perhaps going through something similar. God bless us all ~ everyone.

The summer I could not enjoy~

Cool breezes and pummeling rain gave way to full rumbling streams, humming birds suckling lush color-bursts across the countryside and red-faced children squealing, beneath water sprinklers, in their clinging summer attire. Patient men stood knee deep in cool, quiet pools, skillfully casting silver ripples above the waters. Charcoal and freshly mowed hay aromas wafted across yards while youngsters counted and ran in a gleeful game of hide and seek. Grandchildren rushed up to me with bouquets of wild flowers and embraced my sagging, round body, stirring my heart ~ my memory ~ to a time when I too loved the life I led where Dad and Granddad were my constant protectors, comforters, guardians. Dad and Granddad had all the answers, all the strength, all the direction. Oh and all the fun! We flew high with laughter and joyful tears. Then they were both gone; they took it all with them. This was to be the summer where I had to learn to stand and face life alone. No one else would, or could, ever watch and listen to me with that open mind and unselfish loving heart they had given me for all those years. While I had long loved my grandchildren in a like manner, I suddenly lost the lift beneath my wings. As long as Dad lived, Granddad had never really died either. But with them both gone, I crashed under the weight of the reality. 

Is it true that no one will ever love me like they did? Or is it that I will never love anyone like I love them?