My grandpa Roger was the best man I've ever known. He always called me Binx growing up. "How are ya, Binx?" "Love ya, Binx." I grew up at my grandparents' house, staying there every weekend, until I was 14 when they moved to Florida. My grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and with it came frontotemporal dementia. He no longer remembered our names and was unable to speak coherently, mostly making noises to communicate.

During a visit in 2013, grandpa was hospitalized, and his health quickly deteriorated within days. As I said goodbye to my grandpa, I looked into his empty eyes and dazed expression. I kissed him and left the room. A few moments later, my dad came running down the hall shouting:

"Brenda! COME BACK!"

"I can't... I already said goodbye..."

"He asked for you! He spoke! He said, 'Where's Binx? Binx!?'"

I ran back to the room in disbelief. I hadn't heard him say any of our names in years. When I entered, for a split second it was like my grandpa was there. He smiled at me with a little chuckle, squeezed my hand and said, "Binx!" He remembered my name and that was the last thing he said to me. Within three seconds, his eyes were empty again, becoming a shell of the most brilliant man I've ever known. Within weeks, he had passed.

He remembered Binx, not Brenda, and, in honor of him, I sign all my work Binx. I guess it's to let him know I'll never forget him either.