Grief caught me today, as I watched a coffin draped with a Standard.
My own father's coffin was draped with his Squadron's standard and his service medals. He wasn't a Duke, or a Lord, but he was a father.
And today a father was mourned, by his children who walked. No matter the titles and wealth and position and the history of millennia. They were fighting back tears as children do when they know they will not hear that voice again, hear that laugh.
So grief grips us by the hand and we walk, so reluctant, wanting to run back in time.
Grief is an eternal companion, sometimes with the iron grip of memory, other times just a sad reflection in an old mirror looking behind.
But we walk and we walk on.