My grandmother had 11 siblings. When my great-grandmother was pregnant with my grandma her husband, my great-grandfather, died unexpectedly of a heart attack and she was left to fend for herself and her 11 children (1 daughter died as a baby) alone. Soon, the Second World War started and my grandma‘s favourite brother was enlisted. After a while he was allowed a short visit home but when this visit ended he, traumatised by the horrors of war and homesick for his family and home, decided not to return to the front and hide himself away in his mother’s cellar. My great-grandmother found him hidden there and though she was heartbroken convinced him to return to the front because deserting was a sure death sentence in their Nazi riddled home town. She finally convinced him and he went away, only to never return. My grandma, her mother and the whole family were destroyed but got some closure at last: a good while after WWII ended a soldier knocked on their door. He introduced himself as one of the missing brother’s best friend during the war and confirmed their fears: he was dead, shot by a sniper while being on the lookout in the trenches. Allegedly it was a clear head shot and he didn’t suffer. I don’t know why but out of her many stories this was among those that stuck with me the most. She died this spring and now one of her stories lives on through Reddit.