His death came with the sudden realization of the advanced state of the disease and of everything he was really doing to help her on a daily basis. She didn't remember us at all. It had no connection to the date or what was happening. My grandfather had been so effective at giving her cues, providing her with a routine, and preparing her for events, that none of us realized how much she had already forgotten. When he died, my grandmother no longer had contact with reality. When I lost my grandfather, I also lost my grandmother. My friends at school didn't understand what I was going through. They were like, “At least your grandmother is still alive,” and all I wanted to say was, “Yeah, sort of.” None of them could have understood what it was like to have a grandmother who didn't remember who you were. My family never realized how my grandfather was my grandmother's foundation for access to reality. Little did we know how much he wanted to protect us all from this reality. I know this put a lot of stress on my grandfather and probably even contributed to his life.