Today, amidst the busyness, I’m taking time to reflect on this day one year ago. My Oma died that day. And while life has gone on, we continue to survive, remember, cherish; I was right, it isn’t the same.

We visited my family over Christmas. It was wonderful. But, there was a huge hole where Oma and Opa should have been. My dad reminisced about how they, especially as they became older, their hearing less sharp, would just sit, with quiet smiles on their faces, watching their family. Content. So happy to be with us.

Photos of them decorate our home. I have one, in my kitchen, of Oma and Opa when they were much younger. It’s one of my favorites. Maybe second only to the one I took the last time we saw my Opa, when we visited to say goodbye. They were married for 61 years, and the look on their faces shows me that it was the kind of love that movies are made about. No, not the romantic comedies. The real, tough, make it through anything kind. The real life love stories.

Amidst the sorrow, there was joy. My parents became Oma and Opa to my precious niece. It’s so fun to see them love on their granddaughter. And, I can’t help but wonder what my own grandparents were like with us, in our early years. Did they act as silly? Would they make just about any face for a smile? Did they hold us tight and rock us to sleep. I know the answer to this. It has to be yes. A thousand times, yes.

I will always miss them.