When I was eight, my mom came out of a room visibly saddened after a phone call and said she would have to make a trip to small town Wisconsin. My grandpa was dying.

During his funeral, I was mad at my mom for crying and not telling me the gun salute was about to happen like she promised me she would. Afterward, all I could talk about was how I wanted to go back to the hotel and go down the waterslide. I truly didn’t understand.

I remember walking through my grandpas’ closet the day after he was put to rest and picking out an old Vikings t-shirt of his to keep his memory.

All of these really gloomy things flood into my memory yet it’s difficult to uncover the fun we had together, as he passed away early on in my life. I recall visiting his house that sat on a golf course and picking up golf balls from under the pine trees; I remember sitting on his lap on the porch at my home. I’m sad, though, that we didn’t have an opportunity to make more memories than we did. I guess that’s part of life.

It’s a different kind of loss when a major influence in your life leaves early on. I don’t struggle with the loss of my grandfather externally, and that is hard to say. But, it is also hard to long for someone you barely knew. I know the concept of my grandpa from pictures and stories that come from my moms recounting. I wasn’t able to sit down, listen, ask questions and truly appreciate the stories my grandpa would tell. I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce him to the people and things that I have grown to love. He wasn’t able to be there for my graduation or to see me as the woman I have grown up to be today. We don’t have many pictures or memories; we don’t have a deep, humanly connection.

Maybe I don’t remember my grandfathers’ favorite color, what he and his best friend liked to do when they had a weekend off or how he acts when he’s had a long day. But we have a unique relationship now and that is something I have come to accept and love. With that comes a sense of unusual serenity. The majority of my life has been observed by someone who loves me endlessly, not physically, but from a heavenly distance. While I would absolutely love for him to tangibly be in the crowd cheering me on or there to hug me when I need it, I’m lucky enough to have him with me constantly.

I’ve been given the opportunity to ask my mom and her siblings about their father and grow with them in that way. I look at photos of him and of us together and smile. I hear about the person he was, heroic, strong, caring, loyal and see how those elements have become part of each and every one of my family members. We will never really be without him, that’s the beauty of it all.

So, grandpa, I love the years I did get to spend with you and though I can’t remember every detail, I will cherish the little things that I do remember. One being that huge, genuine smile that I get to now see on my mom every day. And on the nights when I’m insecure or lonely, I wear that oversized, soft, Vikings t-shirt of yours and feel a sense of peacefulness rush through me.