I know that my eldest daughter still grieves for her grandfather--the one she had the chance to know. I see her staring at the picture she keeps in her room. One night while my mother was here, Inwe clung to the photo of Dad as she fell asleep. She also spent one night talking with my mom about Dad. Those are the moments of grief that I can see. I know the reason for the quiet voice and the wide eyes.
This evening, I suspect that her grief was quietly lurking well before she burst into tears. Inwe had happily shown me a picture that she drew depicting Mom Mom, Pop Pop, and her under a sunny sky. She wrote the names of each person on the back of the drawing. While I was saddened a little, I praised her for the drawing. I suggested that she put it on the refrigerator so that we could see it easily. "Oh, that's a good idea," was her immediate reply.
It was later, after an altercation with her sister and resulting time out, that the grief found its way to the surface. Instead of clutching a picture of Pop Pop, Inwe held a picture of Phill as she cried. He was on call. He wasn't here. I don't know for certain, but I think she was wondering if Daddy was coming home. She still wonders if she'll lose her father like I lost mine--with no warning.