He’s never going to see me in this.

“He’s never going to see me in this.”

Today, while picking up my beautiful wedding dress, my heart shattered as the above phrase dashed through my mind. I stood holding my ivory dress in the middle of the store and felt lightheaded at the grief that stole through my body while tears began to pool in my eyes.

Because that’s the only word for it – grief. It lessens and intensifies when it deems fit, creating an abyss of emotions for the soul that is trying to navigate through the cycle. Today, I realized while gripping the bright pink bag holding my wedding dress that I had never even shown a picture of me in my wedding dress to my grandpa. Today, my grief flared when I went to pick up a dress that is supposed to remind me of my happiest day and the bright, exciting future that is yet to come. And it will – just not today.

Today, I felt the aching loss from October. Nearly three months ago, my world was turned upside down at 6:15 a.m. when I received a text from my dad that said the staff and doctors at UNMC alerted our family that we needed to get to Omaha as soon as we could. My grandpa had been in the hospital for a few weeks at this point and, being much closer than my siblings, I’d had the opportunity to visit him multiple times. Even there he was the life of the party, cracking jokes and being ornery (which, if you knew him, you know this was his style). Professionals decided to move him to Omaha when his condition wasn’t improving. I had a nagging feeling that things weren’t quite right, and when I received the 6:15 a.m. text a couple days later, my worst fears were realized.

The rest of my morning on October 3rd was a blur. I called my fiancé, a traveling bank examiner, and cried to him on the phone. He was scheduled to return from South Dakota that day, so we made a plan to meet and head to Omaha as quickly as possible. After suffering through a morning of teaching and worrying, we got to Omaha mid-afternoon and I was able to hold my grandpa’s hand and talk with him for a few hours. He was tired. His earthly body was frail, but the man I loved so dearly was still there. I’ll never forget one of the first things he said to me: “Making it to your wedding is looking a little shaky, kiddo.” The quirky, ill-timed humor was a very trademark grandpa move and, in this moment, it was what opened the flood gates in his hospital room.

Grandpa spent his last few hours doing what he did best: taking care of his family. From complaining about getting the garage door fixed soon to putting us at ease with his wit, grandpa reminded us all why he was so special. Losing that man has been heartbreaking and devastating. The day he passed, I knew a piece of my heart went with him.

Today my grief flared as I was reminded of a man I love who was taken too soon. A man who took me and my siblings on adventures when we were little and who always saved a sprinkle donut for me on the mornings I stayed  at his house. A man who knew every single curse word and could use them in a variety of situations. A man who coined the term “garbologist” and who was always the first to suggest we go out to eat whenever I was in town. A man whose heart and passion for his job inspired generations of teachers, administrators, and coaches to follow in his footsteps. Though he’s gone, my heart aches for him to be here. Some days hurt worse than others. Going through the holidays and planning a wedding without him have proven to be difficult tasks for my heart. I often think to myself grandpa would have loved this when watching something on TV or deciding on another detail for my April wedding. Life is hard; life with grief sitting on your heart proves this to be even more true.

No, he won’t be at my wedding and yes, there will be a hole without him there. Days like today remind me that my heart is still tender and that grief doesn’t play fair. These days also remind me how damn lucky I was to have that man as my grandpa.

Grandpa won’t ever see me in my wedding dress. He won’t get to hug me this coming April or dance with me at my reception. But he is always with me, always cheering me on. Being Bernie Phillips’ granddaughter is something I’ve always been proud of. He may not physically be with us, but as he held my hand in the hospital, he promised me he would still be there April 18th.

That’s a promise I’m holding him to.