My grandfather was 76 years old when he was diagnosed with dementia. "Poppy" was the happiest man on earth. He was always making jokes (that weren't funny but we laughed anyways), always singing, and always filled with words of wisdom. As each month went on, he became less and less like himself. The day he thought my grandmother, whom he had been married to for 60 years was his nurse, was a rude awakening: the next visit was filled with more uncomfortable comments. Who was this man in front of me? He sure wasn't the man I knew and loved. I had very limited knowledge about Alzheimer's and dementia, but what they showed on "Grey's Anatomy" was very clean and far fetched from the truth.

I remember being asked to go visit Poppy and without even realizing it, I was making excuses not to go. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months without me going to see him. I felt horrible deep down, but it was just painful to see the person I once knew and loved turn into someone he was not. A year went by, I remember my grandmother talking to me, "you should really go see him." Truthfully, as selfish as it seems, I was terrified. Terrified of the fact he might not know who I am. Terrified of the uncomfortable comments that might be said, terrified how he might look.

I finally got the courage to go see him. I was driving to the hospital to visit him and I got a phone call from my father. "He might not look how you remember him, just prepare yourself." As I was driving I was mentally preparing myself for what I was about to walk into. Halfway there, fear struck and I just turned around. It's OK, there's always tomorrow I said to myself.

My father called me a few hours later to tell me that my Poppy had passed. The feeling of guilt took over my whole body. I couldn't speak. I was in shock. Was I really that selfish I couldn't spend an hour of my day visiting my grandfather who took care of me my whole life? The past year I had more chances than I let myself realize. And I didn't, I carry that regret around everyday; I will for the rest of my life.

My advice to you is this: if you have a sick relative, think about it if you were in their shoes. It may be scary to see them in pain and not act like themselves, but imagine how scared and alone they feel. Their bodies are turning against them and everything around them is changing. The one thing that stays constant is the love of their family.

If you have a sick relative you're “scared” to see, ask yourself this. If they were to be gone tomorrow would you be comfortable with the last conversation you had with them? Would you able to live with yourself knowing you didn't say goodbye?