I should have been there

It's been five years since my grandma died. Five years and I still feel like I'm carrying a brick in my stomach. She was sick for a long time, you know? Cancer ate her up piece by piece. And I... I was 'too busy' to visit.

I was in college, chasing some stupid degree I don't even use now. Every time my mom called, telling me Grandma wasn't doing well, I'd make some excuse. Midterms. Projects. Parties. God, I even went to parties.

I remember the day she passed. Mom called, crying so hard I could barely understand her. I rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. She was gone. And I hadn't held her hand, hadn't told her I loved her one last time.

Now, I have this photo of her on my desk. This tiny, smiling face that reminds me every single day how much of a selfish jerk I was. I replay the what-ifs over and over. What if I'd skipped that stupid class? What if I'd driven home just for a weekend? Would it have made a difference? I don't know. But I know I'll never forgive myself for not being there when she needed me most. It eats me up inside, constantly. I just hope she knows, wherever she is, that I regret it. Every single day.