Art and pictures I've always known.
But he wasn't there. It felt like the hole left behind was even bigger than the space he commanded while living. My muscle memory told me he'd be about, sitting in the den reading or at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle. My mental memory knew he wouldn't and bridging the gap between those two places was like crossing the Grand Canyon in a blinding snowstorm, with nothing but a pair of sandals and a thin t-shirt.
I guess that's Grief 2.0 for you. First you deal with the death, then you deal with the reality. My grandma is strong and doing well. She's learning to live by herself and be alone after 57 years of marriage. She's tough.