I did not learn of my grandad’s passing until three days after it had happened. It was my own fault I guess, setting off to remote places knowing he was not in the best condition. A mix of guilt and regret were the first things I felt; then came the sadness and the thought that I could have been there. I could have visited and seen him once more, but at the time the idea of going on a mad hike around Mont Blanc seemed far more exciting than spending a couple of days with my grandparents in Spain.