My grandpa passed a 3 years ago last month. I was living with him at the time at the request of my mom due to his deteriorating health. I had never been particularly close with my grandpa until those last 4 months that I was living with him. I got used to coming home from work and just shooting the shit with him over a couple beers.

Then one day he got the flu. He didn't seem too bad at first, but on the 3rd day of his fever, I was suddenly woken up by my dad and brother suddenly bursting through the front door around 11 AM (it was the weekend so I had been sleeping in). They frantically asked me about him, but having just woken up didn't know what was going on. They said they had been calling his phone for hours trying to get hold of him, and it was very unusual for him to not answer. 

We found him barely conscious on his bathroom floor, delirious. He claimed that he had been there for days (it was about 3 hours). He was unconscious for about a week before passing away in the hospital. I still remember the confusion and desperation in his voice when we found him, telling us he had been calling out my name for days... That stuck with me for long goddamn time. I was living there specifically to look after him and it felt like I had betrayed him. I blamed myself for almost 2 years for his death. I thought if I had been awake, if I had heard him, I could have helped him in time and he'd still be alive. I've gotten over that rationale since, thankfully. My family made sure to tell me right away that it wasn't my fault and they didn't blame me in the slightest, which really helped. I still miss him, though. Think about him a lot.