The day my grandfather was laid to rest felt heavier than the gray sky above us. People stood in small groups, speaking softly, as if raising their voices might disturb something fragile. Every corner seemed filled with memory.I kept watching my grandmother.I expected to see the same weight in her that I felt in my own chest. But she stood quietly—upright, composed, with a faint smile that didn’t quite match the moment. It unsettled me. It almost felt wrong, as if something had been left unspoken.