The first time my flex shaft broke, I panicked. I ran to my local supplier, bought new parts, and then sat at my bench clueless. I called my grandfather. He was who I always called to help me make/fix/understand pretty much anything wood working wise or mechanical. I went to his house that day and he showed me how to do the repair step by step. We had coffee and cake afterwards because that's what you did at 3 o'clock at their house. Today I sat down at my bench, a day before the second anniversary of my grandfather passing, and my flex shaft broke. Same failure as before, except this time, I knew exactly how to repair it. How to take it apart bit by bit, replace the pieces and how to put it back together again. A major repair? No, maybe not, but definitely something I wouldn't have known without him there to show it to me. My heart has been so heavy these past few weeks... thinking about him, missing him, wishing to have him back, and I no doubt cried throughout the entire repair because of the timing, but damn if I'm not grateful to have had a man like that in my life. A teacher like that. A love like his.