Saturday would have been my grandfather’s 88th birthday. This week as I reflected on the man I knew so much, I realized that I still know so little. I can't tell you his favorite color, his favorite singer, or even what sparked his interest in cars. Yet that doesn’t matter because those things didn’t define my grandfather. My grandfather was a loving man and a devoted father, grandfather, son, brother, and husband.

Even though my grandfather has been gone for four years and my grandmother’s dementia has worsened, there is always one story I will remember.

It was the spring semester of my senior year of high school. Like many seniors, I was stressed and preoccupied by all the lasts that faced me and the scary reality that I was leaving home for the first time. Feeling overwhelmed, I went to pick my grandmother up for her weekly hair appointment. We shared our usual small talk about life as my grandmother struggled to remember what had happened moments ago. Then our small talk changed.

Even through her illness, my grandfather has been a reminder, almost like he has been watching over her and guiding her through her difficulties. In this moment of pure frustration towards my grandmother for asking once again whether I had a boyfriend or not, I heard a sadness in her voice. Her sadness was not because I didn’t have a boyfriend but because she missed her husband. She then began to tell me a story about one of their fights.

It was early on in their marriage, my grandfather had already served in the Cold War once, but now with war looming in Vietnam, he was ordered to return. With his departure date coming closer and my grandmother nine months pregnant with their first child, he had a choice to make. My grandfather could go to Vietnam and build an Army life for himself, while my grandmother would become an Army wife. Not willing to accept the reality that she would have to raise my uncle alone, my grandmother left my grandfather with a choice, her and their first born, or the Army. My grandfather chose his family, and they shared many ups and downs throughout their marriage, raising six children.

There is a beauty in this story because it reminds us that love is rough, bumpy, and challenging, but also worth every second. My grandmother took care of my grandfather until his last day, and through all their struggles you knew the love they felt for each other.

I’ll never know how factual this story actually is because of my grandmother’s illness. But in a world plagued with violence and divorce, I think we can all find hope that love like this exists.

I hope you all find the love my grandmother and grandfather felt for each other. The love that makes you sacrifice and the love that becomes a role model to your family. In a world of injustice and violence, be the hope, be the light, be the truth, and be the love.