I only saw grandpa once a year, or less. He lived in a different country. But he was the only one that easily would go out of his way to make anyone happy. He sadly didn't have a backbone, which was frustrating. So when I cut grandma off for years, that sadly meant I couldn't see him either. I had just managed to repair the relationship with my mother, and felt willing to bear with grandma, when I visited him by driving over myself. I spent time with him and grandma, and drove back after a week since he was going to the family home and meeting mom. But then shortly after - I got a call from her; grandpa had been picked up by the ambulance helicopter. He had a stroke. And he had more on the drive to the hospital. He never fully recovered, but he was still grandpa. For years he kept going as fast as the walker let him. Kept being the kindest being alive. Kept making us cry when we had to leave. When he died, it broke me. I still miss him dearly. Just thinking of it makes me cry.