When I was ten, my grandfather drove all the way from Texas to Colorado just to help my mother and I move after my step-dad left us.

When I was eleven, my grandfather helped pay for me to go to camp with the rest of my classmates.

When I was twelve, my grandfather wanted to go up to the school and protect me from the bullies who wouldn't leave me alone.

When I was thirteen, my grandfather didn't care what I did wrong, because I was still his perfect granddaughter in his eyes.

When I was fourteen, my grandfather cleared out his office that was filled to the brim with things just so I could have my own room.

When I was fifteen, my grandfather was very supportive about my dad coming back into my life.

When I was sixteen, my grandfather died.

It was hard when I heard the news. We had been on our way to the store when the nursing home called and told us that my grandfather had passed away. I thought about how unfair it was, how terrible it all was. But then I stepped back and thought about all the things my grandfather had done for me. How he considered me his daughter. How he cared for me and took care of me. How he always loved me. And I was glad I got to spend those years with him. And it made me closer to my grandmother because my grandfather's passing showed me just how little time I might have left with her. So even though she annoys me sometimes, I know that I should just hug her and ignore the bad things. Because who knows how short life may be.