She missed Bilbo. They had become great friends in the years since they met. He had accepted her quickly as being who and what she claimed to be; had been delighted to discover a kinswoman on this side of the Sundering Sea. Unlike Frodo, he had not questioned the purpose of her existence but made her acquaintance swiftly into a family tie.

Yet they'd felt more like peers, cousins perhaps, rather than a distant many times great-grandmother and her descendant. That might have been due to the fact that they appeared to be the same age, at least at first, for by the time Bilbo left them he'd seemed far older. Now he was gone, and she felt much older than she now appeared. Grief, as she knew only too well, was draining.

She had never finished her grieving over Tûk;  even now, after the healing she'd found by being with hobbits again, she sometimes had sharp pangs of intense sorrow for her beloved. There was never a moment since she lost him that she did not know they were severed, that Tûk was gone.

But the absence of Bilbo was different, an ache in knowing he was gone. Sometimes she would forget it, think of something amusing that she wished to share, only to be brought up short by the fact that she'd not be able to do so.

She mourned for Frodo as well. He seemed so lost at times. How hard it must be for him to lose one who had been guardian, mentor and friend, a father truly, though Frodo never called him that.

She had promised Bilbo she would help Frodo, that she would be there for him in his grief. This would be a promise she would keep; after all, grandmothers are for comforting.