Today marks the 6th anniversary of the day my life forever changed. On November 16, 2005, I received a mid-day phone call from my mom telling me that my beloved Grampa had died. Boy, how the years fly forward! Six years later and I miss him every bit as much as I did that day.

Edward Morr, called Eddie by friends & family, valued family above all else. He fell in love with the woman of his dreams, little Theresa Bamert, and they started their life together.

That’s my Grandma (Theresa), with Gramps, my mom & my uncle Steve. They had 7 kids together, lived in their dream house, and celebrated life. Eventually, however, it all changed when my grandma died young and left him alone with a house full of children and a lap full of grief. (Cue Elvis song, “Don’t Cry Daddy”).

Because of that tragedy, however, our family grew to rely on each other and cherish what was there, for you never know when it will all be taken from you. I grew up with that credo celebrated every day. Each Sunday we’d gather at Grampa’s house for games, sports and BBQ. It was our family HQ and why I consider my cousins to be as good as siblings. Instead of aunts & uncles, I have five trillion parents and the world is a better place for it. I miss those days at Grampa’s house – some of the best days of my life.

Every summer we’d go to the Lake of the Ozarks and take over a local resort. Every fall he’d come to Grandparent’s Day at our schools. Every award banquet or school production, he’d be there in his Sunday best. He was always there, and always cheering us on. He told the same corny jokes over and over again, and when he knew you liked something he’d go out of his way to find newspaper articles about it or random useless facts. He watched the Cardinals game with the volume turned off and the radio on, and he teased us all mercilessly about anything that came to mind. That was Grampa.

When I heard the news, I cried for what seemed like forever. Cried because he would never be at my wedding. Cried because I knew we’d have to sell the house. Cried because he wouldn’t be at my graduate school graduation ceremony six months later, when he had been so proud that I’d gotten in and gone to the most well-respected Catholic school in the midwest. I cried because I’d never hear his raspy voice again, and because I’d never again be able to kiss his soft, puffy cheek. He was my hero and the world’s greatest grandpa – and he has the trophy & ribbon to prove it!

Every good thing must come to an end, and while I would give just about anything for one more day with him, I also recognize that my life would be completely different if he had stuck around for a few more years. If he hadn’t passed during my final year of graduate school, we wouldn’t have sold the house and the family wouldn’t have changed so dramatically. As such, I never would have been able to leave – I wouldn’t have moved across the country. I wouldn’t have gotten the job I have now, and I wouldn’t know the people I’ve met. I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I’ve received, and I wouldn’t have started scrapbooking with friends. I wouldn’t have been forced to examine my life, and I probably still wouldn’t know what I wanted to do with it. Things would be entirely different, and I can’t guarantee they’d be better than this.

So the next time you start falling into the tornado of grief, give yourself a time limit for feeling blue. Then step back, examine your life, and figure out what good can come out of that loss. While we all know that we’d rather stick around with our loved ones and keep things the same, we owe it to ourselves to emerge from the grief stronger individuals with a purpose and vision for making the best out of a crappy situation.

With that, I leave you my favorite reminiscing-post video: A great song by The Starting Line called “Something Left To Give”. Enjoy!