Grief

When I lost my grandmother, I was too small to remember. I was too small to have deep memories with her. She had a stroke. All I can remember that she always accompanied me at home when I was alone. She couldn't talk nor walk. She always sat on the green sofa.
Grandpa also left when I was just turned 3 years old. I didn't remember much, except his strong smell of cigarette.
I'm a big girl now, has one daughter and a husband, and I lost my Dad.
Now I know the feeling of grief. My mom and I would talk about Dad every day, his past memories with us. 

Are you watching us from up there, Dad?

We wouldn't stop talking about Dad. When I sneezed while driving, it would remind Mom so much about Dad because on his counted days he sneezed so much while driving. We wouldn't stop telling stories about Dad, just not yet.
I have so many stories about my Dad because we were so close. I have my dad's face, when you met us, you would have known that we were related. We were so much alike. I also inherited Dad's character, we both had strong opinions about certain things but remained calm if anyone bad mouthing about us, we just didn't show how hurt was us even deep down we hurt so much.

Dad loved swimming.

When I was a kid, he would take the whole family to swim, every Sunday. I even allowed to invite my friend slash cousin to join our Sunday ritual. Then I grew up, I've gotten less interested in swimming with Dad. I always refused if Dad asked me to join him. He said, the water in the swimming pool was blessed and would make your face ten years younger; also it would make your heart strong. But I remained ignorant, I declined my Dad's proposal.

But,
His last seven days. When my daughter had her holiday, also I was free. I decided to spend the rest of holiday in Solo.
Dad still insisted on me to join him in the swimming pool.

Finally, I accepted my Dad's invitation. We swam twice that week.

In his last days. We went swimming. 

I got 10 round, Dad also had 10 round.

Dad and his girls.

He was strong.

On his last seven days, I slept with Dad, in front of the TV. He always woke up in the middle of the night and had trouble sleeping. I didn't ask anything because I knew he had been had sleep apnea for years and always refused when I asked him to check his disorder to sleep clinic. Yes, he hated hospital.

I always reminded him to take blood pressure medicine regularly, but he refused. Yes, he also hated medicine.

He had flu, and the only medicine he took was Vick's inhaler if that's counted as medicine.

Dad was very stubborn about certain things.

He would make us listen to him because he knew better.

But Dad, you were wrong, and I was wrong.

Your heart wasn't strong enough. You collapsed way too fast. Without warnings.

It's so hard living without you. I have to continue your fight because I'm the first born when you know. I am not ready just yet.

We had so many plans, but you weren't here. We were in a long distance relationship know, in a different universe. 
Is this what so-called the feeling of grief?
I read so many articles about it, there were so many stages of grief. But fuck the stages. It's just so hard, I just can't remember which stage I am in...