Every Cubs fan could attest that the Cubs winning the 2016 World Series 108 years later was a surreal moment. Fans stormed the streets of Wrigleyville, bars were soaked with champagne showers, communities set off fireworks. For me, tears rolled down my face.

When I think about my childhood somethings are constants: home cooked meals sitting at the kitchen table with my family with the Cubs on the television in the background.

My grandparents lived across their backyard from us. I grew up playing catch with my grandpa every night of the summer after they went to all of my little league softball games. Constant conversations always started with "What did the Cubs do today"?

In 2003 I was six years old and learned how to ride a bike at my grandparents' house. Immediately after, my family ran inside to watch our Cubbies. The Cubs then lost the playoff game and didn't go to the World Series because some fan tried to reach out to catch a foul ball.

That loss, along with many others throughout more than a whole century, didn't stop generations of loyal fans from supporting their favorite team.

Growing up, most of my friends were White Sox fans. In 2005, I saw a lot of my friends get their World Series win as pitcher Mark Buehrle even came to grammar school. Although I wasn't one of these fans and was even ridiculed for liking the Cubs, I held my head high and said someday our day will come.

The fact that we were born into this world surrounded by die hard Cubs fans, you couldn't help but be one. My grandparents lived a whole life dedicated to the Cubs.

My grandma used to yell at the television anytime the Cubs were up to bat. She would cheer the players on to get a hit and for the opposing team to get an out by using hand motions with her whole little body shaking with energy and pride. She was dedicated to her Cubbies whether they won or lost.

My grandpa got diagnosed with Alzheimer's while I was at a young age. Although many of the memories I could remember with him are flooded by his devastating disease, I could always depend on seeing him in his chair watching the Cubs every time I came over.

He watched every single game. No words could even describe how his face absolutely lit up every time his team was on.

Every summer, I looked forward to trips to Wrigley Field with my family. We truly have a different breed of fans. Everyone high fives each other after a win and we remain friendly to opposing teams. This always made me proud to be a Cubs fan.

It didn't matter whether or not they would lead their league or make play offs each year, as long as they played a good game of baseball and remained class act players was the most important part.

And every time we sang Go Cubs Go, I couldn't be happier to be a part of this good loving community of fans. Cheering the song this past Wednesday meant so much more. All of the wait was finally worth it; we were the champions.

But underlying that was heartbreak knowing all the loyal fans that aren't still alive for this win. The Cubs were always good but in my grandparents' lifetime they were never good enough.

Even though they didn't get to see this championship, we know they were up in Heaven making it happen. It makes me feel as a younger generation of fans that we are carrying the hope forward. Hope in the underdog and hope that the team we love will carry on, even after we're dead and gone.