My grandfather was a jovial man, known to have very strong opinions on cars, New England living, and taxes. A typical Italian grandpa, he was very protective of his family, often to the point where fear and concern for others was expressed as frustrating anger.

Nevertheless, he was always one to embrace his inner child. He was also a story-teller. I have lost count of the times I used to hear the same story about his trip to Disney World.

He would regale me with stories of how accommodating the staff was about his wheelchair, his quick access to all the rides, and most of all his thrilling experience in watching the Disney classic, “A Bug’s Life,” in a 3D theater.

Having lost his wife, my grandmother, six years earlier, he was no stranger to death. In fact, he was as prepared as could be. At least three times a year he would mention in conversation that he had all funeral arrangements taken care of, had made detailed price calculations for the funeral service, the urn, and even went so far as to insist that he be buried on a weekday, so we wouldn’t be charged for a weekend burial.

He was to be buried next to my grandmother, in a cemetery plot near other family members.

At my grandmother’s burial, I remember seeing his name in addition to hers on the stone, with only the date of death left to be filled in. I can still hear his chuckle as he pointed out, “Isn’t that funny, to see my name down there?” These conversations always made me uncomfortable, but he was very calm about death, he had his faith and he was content. I would simply reassure him, not willing to admit to myself that death is an eventuality.

When it came to me, his only grandchild, he always stressed the importance of education. When he noticed that I was interested in academics in high school, he adamantly encouraged my scholastic pursuits.

After telling him that I wanted to obtain my Ph.D. in neuroscience, I was relentlessly teased with the Bugs Bunny phrase “What’s up, Doc?” While unknown to me at the time, a pivotal point in my educational career came when I was talking to him about where to go for my undergraduate education. He highly recommended the “college on the hill” in New London, a small liberal arts college, that had started out as a women’s college where he once met an old girlfriend at a school dance.

Not thinking much of his recommendation at first, I agreed to look into it.

Four years later, I graduated from Connecticut College and made the best decision of my life to attend a school where I was inspired to study neuroscience as a career, made lifelong friends, and thousands of cherished memories. I owe an indescribable amount of gratitude for his original suggestion.

The process of grief is a curious thing. Experts say there are certain stages to go through that make a healthy bereavement. However, I still don’t believe there is a set formula. I learned that not grieving at all, in any form, is extremely dangerous.

A few days after the news of his passing, while trying to return to everyday tasks, academic final exams were upon me. And hearing my grandfather’s voice in my mind, stressing the importance of education, I made my decision. With one final swoop, I pushed back all feelings and emotion and immersed myself in my work.

While I pushed through my exams, I fully anticipated the release of emotions that would come after my last test when I headed home, except it didn’t come. It never came when I went home for Christmas and celebrated our first family holiday meal without him. It never came when his birthday passed, the first one we didn’t all celebrate together.

It only came, a year and a half later, at a burial service, when my aunt handed me a small package. Inside that gift, were two wedding rings, my grandparents’, a pair together again, nestled in cotton, in a tiny gold box.

At that moment, as I mentally registered the significance of the two pieces of metal in my hands, a sudden wave of emotions washed over me. I cried. My shoulders shook and I had trouble finding my breath. But at that moment I also found peace. Something clicked in my mind that everything was going to be OK. And there, standing in the cemetery on a chilly fall day, with crisp leaves blowing around me, surrounded by my family, I finally felt calm.

In my hands, I held the remnants of a marriage, one that was completely full of love, family, summer vacations, and never-ending support, till death do part.