My mother died 9 years ago. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think about her, or miss her. I dream about her very often, and truly, I wish I didn't.
Whoever said time helps to forget, lied.
Of course, I have forgotten things about her, but I also have a different feeling, I don't know, Athenaeum, maybe it is egocentric... you have forgotten things about your gradfather, I feel like I have lost my own past, my own memory. All of my childhood stories, all the details about my early life are gone with her, I have very little memory of myself and nobody to tell me stories about who or how I was.
So sometimes I think death steals the future, but also the past.