When I was twelve years old, my grandpa’s brother died.

That may not sound like something that should affect people directly. For most people, it isn’t. Some people may even go their entire lives not knowing whether their grandparents were only children or one of twelve. For me, it was different. Daniel, my grandpa’s older brother, was just as “family” to me as my own parents were.

Since I was a child, my dad’s side of the family loved to play cards. I spent so much time in the living room of my grandparent’s house bickering with my cousins and aunts about who was cheating in gin, who won polish poker, or who had the leading score in spades.

Daniel– or, as my cousins and I called him– Grampie, was always the mediator. He always had a way to somehow make everyone happy, no matter the situation. I still remember him laughing as my cousin fought with my grandpa about whose hand should’ve won a certain round of poker. It was the most heated argument I had ever witnessed, but somehow, when the two heard Grampie’s laugh, they couldn’t keep their faces straight. Soon enough, the entire table was bursting out with laughter.

After he died, we all steered clear of the card table. There were too many memories– good and bad– of Grampie. However, one Thanksgiving evening, my grandpa decided we should all play together just like we used to. At first, it was peaceful. That lasted for about 5 minutes. By the end of the game, people were yelling and crying. My aunt yelled about the result of the game, but that wasn’t what she was really upset about. As the shouting quieted and the room settled, everyone knew what was really bothering us: the empty chair at the head of the table. If he was still sitting there, we never would have been arguing in the first place.

After a few rounds of tears, we spent the rest of that night sharing stories about Grampie over a couple rounds of his favorite game, polish poker. That night, we decided that even though he was gone, we shouldn’t disrespect him by avoiding the thing that he used to bring us all together: cards.

Now, whenever I’m stressed or down, I give my aunt and uncle a call and tell them I want to play cards. It may not be the same as it used to, but it will always be something that brings me comfort on my darkest days.