I would get lucky when I saw him more than once a week. Every Saturday at 2:00 PM was is a must. The sad part is that he changed as he got older, not by age, but by action. You see, now he’s totally different. When I was younger I would spend the weekend with him at the beach house. I would interrupt every walk he took, and spend as much time possible with him. Even though our ages differed enormously, it didn’t bother him, and it didn’t bother me. I loved him. Did I tell you that he was such a gentleman? He’d hold the door for me, care for me, and even love me. It seemed like he always had some Polo mints in his pockets for me. But things change, now he doesn’t talk to me. He’d smile at me from time to time, and every time he does my eyes tear up a little bit. I miss him. I am so angry at him! Why does he act as if he doesn’t even know, or even remember me? I am his first granddaughter, isn’t that enough? I love him, I still do. I’m sure he loves me too, but Alzheimer’s? She’s a bitch.