Many years ago she came over to baby-sit my brother and me, plopped down in front of the TV and watched a matinee game, all the while laughing along with Harry Caray.

She and I would always attend at least one game a year, driving downtown in her powder-blue ’76 Caddy. We would park several blocks away to save money and drag food and headphones into Wrigley Field.

She would attentively listen to Caray during the game and always looked forward to belting out “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the sacred seventh-inning stretch.

And now, five years after my grandmother has passed on, Caray left us Wednesday night.

For one of the first times in my life, I’m at a loss for words. I feel as though I am mourning the passing of a family member; a feeling many Chicagoans are encountering.

He had a profound impact on my life, especially since I am a sports fanatic, but now I don’t know how to deal with this.

I could try to share some of the memorable Harry moments, such as listening to my grandmother singing with Caray: “Jody, Jody Davis. Cubs catcher of the year.”

Or even times when Harry had a little extra fun with players’ names, unintentionally mangling Ryne Sandberg’s name, calling him Ryne Sanderson, or the ever-popular “Ryne-berg.”

Then the times he gave up pronouncing Ken Caminiti and Andres Galaraga’s names.

And my favorite, when he tried to pronounce player’s last names backwards. I’ll never forget my father impersonating Caray, saying, “Did you know that Dawson backwards is Nose-wad?”

But how can I even begin to explain the impact he had on my life, or anyone else’s? There’s not enough ink to make that possible.

Those Coke-rimmed glasses and the chuckle of “Aughlalaugh” will forever remind me of my childhood, a time when I had no worries.

Here was a man who couldn’t be persuaded to leave a job he loved. While indirectly influencing children to pursue careers in play-by-play announcing, including his son and grandson, he made us think that we all should have jobs we love as much as he did. For 53 years he was baseball’s play-by-play man. 53 years.

And what made him so popular was his sincerity. True, people will remember his blunderings, but no one loved his team as much as Caray. He was glad when his team won and upset when they lost.

To him, teams weren’t about money. He was all about old-fashioned baseball.

Although I’m not old enough to remember, he did have stints in St. Louis and Oakland before heading to the Windy City.

And when he made it to Chicago 27 years ago, he converted it into “his kind of town.” A town full of people who welcomed him with open arms and now are tentative to finally let him go.