When I was 9 years old, my grandfather died of cancer. It remains the defining tragedy of my life—not so much the death itself, but the embarrassment and shame I felt over feeling it so deeply. How can anyone truly know loss at nine years old? How much can any kid really love a grandparent, a figure who, in most cases, remains peripheral, not a part of …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Less Art to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.