Atheist here. I cried, I grieved in many ways. I filled up with regrets about many things. I felt happy about the huge crowds at his funeral, all people who loved him. I felt pure rage at the priest who during funeral service forgot Grandpa's name and went on and on about believing in jesus as the only good way to be. I felt anger at everyone because they didn't actually tell me that he wasn't going to get better. He was only 67! I thought he was going to get better up until the moment dad told me he died. I had horrible nightmares about the body. Horrible. It's been a few years and I still can't fully wrap my mind about the fact that he doesn't exist anymore, because how can the world just go on? I still dream of him, but when he appears in my dreams I know he's actually dead and it makes me realize I'm asleep. I'd always idealized him. I often wonder what he would say if he could see me now.