I let him down

It's been years, but the guilt still eats at me. My grandpa, he wasn't perfect, nobody is. But he was always there. Always. Drove me to soccer practice when my parents were working late, helped me with my stupid math homework, even pretended to like the awful music I listened to in high school. He just...showed up.

And then, when he really needed me, I wasn't there. He got sick, real sick, and I was supposed to visit him every week at the nursing home. I promised him I would. But college, you know? Parties, exams, girls... stupid stuff that seemed so important then. I'd call him sometimes, say I was busy, that I'd come next week. Next week never came enough.

He died. I went to the funeral, of course. Sat there with my family, pretending to be sad. But the truth is, the sadness I felt was all about me. About how I let him down. I should have been there more. He deserved better. I wish I could go back and just...sit with him. Hold his hand. Tell him I loved him. But I can't. And that's something I have to live with. I just hope he knew, somehow, that I did love him, even when I was a selfish idiot.