Understanding loss

My maternal grandfather passed away today morning.
As I type this post, I am on my way, on a seven hour journey, to attend his last rites.

I thought for quite some time about typing this down.
What kind of a person sits and records his feelings immediately after learning about the death of a close family member?
Shouldn't he just break down and cry and cry?
I do not know. 
I have been trying to cry ever since my mom called me, three hours back, to inform me about the death. But I have not been able to.
I am unable to even describe the feeling. It does not seem to be of sadness. It does not seem to be of depression or anger either. 
It feels more like the river of emotions has drained, exposing the fossils of words that lay waiting to see sunlight.

I try remembering the old man. All the hours spent with him.
I forcefully keep reminding myself of his statement after he had learnt I had gotten a job in Bangalore.
"Bangalore is a really nice place. I have always wanted to live there. Perhaps, after some time, after you settle down there properly, I will come and stay with you."
I had had grand plans for him.
All those plans seem to make no sense now just like his sudden demise.

I think more about my grandmother. 
She is the greatest victim of the loss.
I wonder what she would be going through now, having built her entire world around her better half. 
I firmly tell myself that when I step into a relationship in the future, I should be careful enough to not let my partner love me to the extent of not being able to cope with my loss. Letting my girl love me without limits and letting her suffer in uncontrollable pain after my death seems too selfish. 
But would asking a person to love cautiously be appropriate?

I continue staring out my bus window. The mountains and paddy fields race behind in a hurry.
I remember the last words my mom had told me on her morning call.
"Make sure you eat something before you board the bus. Please don't travel with an empty stomach. Take care."
When I should have consoled her and asked her to take care, she had done it the other way. 
I wonder what she would be going through now. 
It takes a very long time to recover from losing a father. 
When a child is robbed of its father, it is also robbed of its greatest hero.

I try to understand death. 
It seems really unfair at first sight.
But at a deeper level, it seems to give way to newer, better lives and newer, better bonds. 
When my paternal grandfather had passed away, my paternal grandmother had been in so bad a state the entire family had doubted her recovering from the loss. But today, pride is the feeling that overtakes me when I think about her evolution from everyone's favourite cook to the respected head of a family. 
I wish a similar future for my maternal grandmother.

My mom called me a few minutes back. "The entire family has gathered here. So you travel without worrying. We have one another for support", she had said. 
I imagined the family members seated close to one another, consoling and reminiscing. I imagined the amount of care that would be prevalent now in my grandfather's house.
Now, that is another beauty of loss.
It shows you the value of what you have.