I need to just say this somewhere because it’s been bothering me. My grandpa, my dad’s dad, has this routine. He still keeps my grandma’s side of the bed completely untouched. She died… god, almost three years ago now? It was super quiet, just in her sleep, which I guess is the dream for real, but still. He lays her slippers out every single night, right where they always were. And I know because sometimes I’ll go over there late, if my parents are out of town or whatever, and I’ll see it when I get a glass of water from the kitchen. Her side is just... perfectly made, pillows plumped, no dent in the mattress or anything. It’s like she just stepped out for a second and is coming right back. It’s not just the slippers, it’s everything. Her little vanity is still exactly how she left it, even the tissue she probably used last still folded neatly next to her compact. The house is always so damn clean, like nobody lives there, but you can feel it. He’s always out in the yard, maintaining it like it’s a show house or something, mowing the grass even when it doesn’t need it, power washing the driveway twice a month. My dad says he’s just keeping busy, but it feels more… systematic than that. Like he’s trying to keep everything exactly the same as it was when she was there. It’s kinda fucked up to watch. I don’t know. I get it, he loved her, they were together forever, the whole suburban dream thing. But it’s been *years*. He just lives in this museum of their life and it’s always so quiet there, always. Like, what the hell does he do all day? He just… exists. And everyone just pretends it’s totally fine, like he’s just grieving at his own pace. But it’s not grieving anymore, is it? It’s just… staying put. It makes me wonder what kind of future that even is, you know? Just endlessly waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. It’s seriously depressing.