I was in 6th grade when my grandfather developed cancer for the second time. We all tried to stay hopeful, only thinking that he would make it. His neck was already deteriorating from the first set of radiation, who knew what the second time around would do. Good ole Joe always stayed positive though, keeping a shinning face for the ones he loved. But, as the months went on and on his treatment wasn't working our hope was beginning to drain. We tried to be strong for each other, but it's so hard when you knew his fate. It was coming to be the final month and we all knew what would lie ahead. He couldn't function anymore; his speech began to sound like gibberish, he was writing things that didn't make sense, and he couldn't eat. He ate with a feeding tube that was inserted in his stomach. This was around the time my mother began to break down. Anyone who has lost someone close to them know that feeling of being lost and hopeless. You're in complete despair and exhausted with life and everything seem to be unmanageable. That became my mother and that became me on May 12 when we watch my grandfather die. Every last ounce of life slip between his finger tips and he became lifeless. That was the day I really lost someone and I will miss him until we meet again.