My grandfather died last week. The one from who I took the name Morris. Ken Morris was his name. I found out he died while I was in Miami. I woke up to a bunch of missed calls from my mother, and knew something was up. I called her back and got the obligatory death notice call to all relatives. I felt nothing.

I didn’t have a relationship with my grandad. He wasn’t a huge part of my life as a child, and not even a small part of my life as an adult. However I felt a sense of unease that I felt nothing.

All I could think was that this man had given me my name. I had his blood. There must be similarities between us. And yet, nothing. I felt nothing. I kept thinking of that Chorus Line song.

Was I meant to pretend I felt something?

I’m going to the funeral on Monday. I will feel sad if my dad is sad, but only through empathy. Nothing else.

He didn’t even know I was gay.

He was pretty bigoted.

How do I mourn this?

I’m so disconnected from myself and my feelings and emotions at this point in my life it’s hard to process.

Life is death, and death is life. Taxes & death. That’s all we’re sure of.

Circle of life n all that.