My heart broke the day I got the call. Tears swelled down in heavy droplets, turned into streams that never stopped. My vision blurred, it would not clear for a long time and I held my swollen belly tight in comfort.

The weekend had been planned, my nice clothes set out. He was going to wear his green cardigan, he always did, and his silly brown trucker hat. I was excited; I had never spent a lot of time with my grandpa when I was younger. Today it meant so much to me the small moments with him, the chance for my daughter to be able to know this man better than I did. I had always known he would never see her since he was blind, I had just never thought it would be like this. My family was so strong and brave, they joked about living forever. With my family, I did not doubt it. They are the most wonderful stubborn, bright people I know. I always knew forever was a lie, but not the way most people think. I had always believed that even forever could not take away these strong willed people I loved. Not even forever could win them in a fight.

My grandpa was and always will be the bravest man in my life. His life was haunted by a past, a past he had been lost to completely. It haunted him every moment awake or asleep.

There are many ways I should thank my grandpa, but one of my favorites was to him I had never aged; I was the six-year-old sandy brown hair, green-eyed girl begging for a sweet. I was the short wispy thin child that would squeal in delight when he called me lamb chop and teased me about school. To him, I was the child who begged for more stories, a chance to snuggle against his dark blue flannel shirt he always wore, a pack of smokes, and gum tucked in the front pocket.

I would listen carefully hanging on every word as he told me of his old life, the past an exotic world that amazed; his life had a swirl of dancing sweethearts, hearty moments and war. My grandpa had been in World War II and had taken a bullet to his knee, to me he had been the bravest man alive even though I was too young then to know that the stories he told me probably shouldn’t have been for children. He told me once, when I asked why he kept a jar with a bullet and shrapnel on the mantel, the story of how he got them.

He told me that when he was a young man far before he had wrinkles. He was a soldier and his platoon ran low on supplies, he was hurt and his leg was bleeding but when they brought him in he saw many more men who were worse off than he was and he told them to keep the antiseptic, and drugs for another person with more need. However, they still needed to get the pieces of metal out of him.

They took the big pieces of shrapnel, and the bullet from his leg as he bit on a piece of leather. He told me he never screamed, there was something about him that made me never doubt his story. They did not do the surgery properly he explained, that was why his walk was uneven, why he had a cane. When he started to go blind, I had asked him why he wore sunglasses in the house. Why he could not see me anymore? His answer was sweet. I never doubted my grandpa for a second.

He told me he could still see me that his lamb chop was the prettiest little angel he had ever seen, and nothing would take that sunshine away. He made me promise I would see him again soon and dazzle him with my light. I promised him, but I never knew I would not see him for a long while.

I wish I had known that at the age of seven I wouldn’t see him again until I was twenty years old. I would have told him at every moment possible how he was my hero and how I cherished him. These are the stories I had wanted for my child. That she could know this man, this hero of war, the way I had. As I held my belly and cried the tears of pain and joy, pain because he was gone and I did not get to say goodbye. Yet, I also felt joy for the man I loved would get to say hi to my daughter long before me. I realized then that my favorite characters from childhood, Winnie the Pooh especially, they had never lied. When you know someone wonderful, forever is never long enough to spend with them.

I wish I had enough time with him, as I am sure many others feel with their lost ones, so I write this now instead. I know that for all the people in the world, everyone has lost one, a single person they cared for, maybe more than one. We love them and cherish them forever, but forever is never long enough.