Words spoken (or in this case, written) in anger sure seem a lot more severe and dramatic when one cools off. But that's not what I wanted to talk about.
A few nights ago I dreamed that my Grandpa was still alive. In my dream, he was working on an old restaurant (my Grandpa owned a construction company.) I walked in to find him. I heard his voice beyond a doorway. He was cussing about how nobody can kill him, they can try, but he beat the cancer, didn't he? (In real life, Grandpa didn't beat the cancer.) Anyway, I opened the door just in time to see him turning a corner. I followed him, everytime just as he was passing out of sight. I could not catch up to him, could not get him to hear me, when all I wanted was to talk to him, to see him again.
I miss my Grandpa so.