There was one grandfather in our entrance, and he lived alone. His sad story was known to the whole house.

His wife died when he was sixty years old with a younger, older son, drowned and killed at a beautiful time, even a grave where he did not know. The younger son died tragically, so that there was nothing to bury, burned in the fire.

Truth remained his granddaughter from the eldest son, she then visited grandfather from time to time. Well you know the youth, everyone runs somewhere, everyone is in a hurry and they have no time to give the elderly a worthy attention.

And recently, we started to notice, our grandfather started buying one or two bottles of vodka from each retirement.

Have you drunk, right? “We guessed, but we didn’t see him drunk, and at eighty they didn’t start drinking.

And then one early morning a gunshot sounded, but no one paid attention to it, if little, maybe that fell.

At noon, we found out that my grandfather was shot.

To death he prepared carefully, wrote a farewell letter, in death I ask not to blame anyone.

On the table was the money with the sign "for the funeral", on the bed a suit, a shirt and other things "in these things dress me", in the corner of the room a box with vodka "remember this." On the door of the apartment a note was attached "without the police not to enter."

And as the granddaughter said, the day before he asked her, "Come at twelve, I'll wait.

He covered the couch with cellophane, sat down and shot himself in the heart.

and all.

Later, when they examined the things of Grandpa Makar, they found his diary.

Over the course of a year and a half, he wrote sixteen goodbye notes and every time there was a quote "I couldn't today, maybe next time. »

This is such a sad story.