I wasn't there

I messed up. Big time. My grandpa, he wasn't the easiest guy to be around. Always complaining, always finding fault. And when he got sick, it just got worse. He needed help, a lot of it, and my mom was doing everything she could. But she had a job, and I was…well, I was being a selfish idiot.

She asked me to go over there a few times a week, just to give her a break. To sit with him, make sure he ate, help him to the bathroom. I hated it. I'd make excuses. I had plans with friends, or homework, or I just didn't feel like it. I told myself he wouldn't even notice if I wasn't there.

He died last year. And the guilt…it’s eating me alive. I keep thinking about all the times I could have been there, all the chances I missed to just…be a decent grandson. To show him I cared, even if he was a grumpy old man. Now he's gone, and I can't take any of it back. I wasn't there for him when he needed me most, and I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. I hope somehow, somewhere, he knows I'm sorry.