Today marks one year since my Grandpa passed. I knew coming up here would be hard, and I knew I had to make today what I needed it to be for myself. Grandpa wouldn't have wanted us to be sad or to mope or to make ourselves miserable because of him.
He would, however, have wanted us to do something because he was the biggest attention whore I've ever met, and I loved him for it. He was the strict enforcer of the birthday week growing up and would have pushed harder for a birthday month if he thought he could get away with it. He was a ham, a story teller, a humorist, and full of love and life. He embraced each day and lived life to the fullest.
I don't really believe in celebrating "death days." I think you should acknowledge them and take some time to remember, but it's not a birthday. Don't take a week. Take your time, do what you need to do, but don't dwell. I don't expect others to feel the same. I understand why people do it, but I can't jump in.
Grandpa was story teller, and he lives through the stories he's told us and the stories he's created in our lives. We'll tell his stories, I'll take some time at the ocean to myself, but mostly I'll embrace today in the way he's taught me to embrace every day. It's the least I can do.