One, two, three. Gone forever.

My grandfather's cancer was one of those fast-moving wildfires that didn't give him or the people who loved him time to come to terms with his mortality. My grandmother was lost, but she believed deeply in two things. They would be together again in death, and he would come to her three times in her dreams. The first time was shortly after he died. She woke up and he was beside her in bed, telling her she couldn't keep crying. It was a brief visit. The second time was a bit later, but within a few months, I think. She welcomed his second visit, but dreaded knowing she would only get one more. I don't know when, or if, the third visit happened.