ALLEN PARK, Mich. -- Travis Swanson wakes up and lies in bed. This is his time, his refuge before he prepares for another football Sunday as the center for the Detroit Lions. Before he rises, he organizes his thoughts. He reminds himself how fortunate he is. This, in bed, is where he remembers.

Swanson thinks of those who have been instrumental in helping him reach this point, a starting NFL offensive lineman who is married to the love of his life, Emily. Life is good. After about five minutes, Swanson starts his day and eventually arrives at the stadium. Then the ritual begins. He finds a black Sharpie before he gets taped up and starts writing.

On the underside of his left wrist, he writes the initials “BH.” On the top of his wrist, he writes “Psalm 23:4,” which provides him comfort. On the underside of his right wrist, in big letters, he writes “GU88.”

Travis Swanson writes "GU88" on one wrist and "BH" on the other to honor and remember two people close to him who have died: his father-in-law Bill Holder and Garrett Uekman, Swanson's teammate at Arkansas. Courtesy of Travis Swanson

Most don’t know Swanson does this. He writes it on his skin, not on his tape, to avoid NFL fines. This isn’t for anyone else. This is for him.

“Just little things I look at,” Swanson said. “Little reminders before I go out.”

“BH” is for Bill Holder, his father-in-law, who died in April. “GU88” honors Garrett Uekman, one of his best friends, and an Arkansas teammate, who died in 2011.

They are who matter to him, who he thinks about, his supporters who are no longer here.

Swanson and Uekman were close to inseparable, a duo of goofy pranksters, even though Swanson was a year older. They would rearrange their teammates’ furniture or turn it upside down. Once they took a pumpkin from Emily’s house and ran around the neighborhood before smashing it in her yard because she didn’t want it anymore.

“They thought,” Emily said, “that was the funniest thing ever.”

Weekends were spent on Dickson Street, and if families were in town, they joined in -- offering rare times in-season when players can see their loved ones. Often, Uekman’s instantly recognizable loud laugh could be heard from around the corner.

Uekman’s laugh and bright, wide smile were present on the bus as the Razorbacks drove back to Fayetteville from Little Rock after Arkansas beat Mississippi State on Nov. 19, 2011.

Like any other Saturday night after a game, Uekman and Swanson discussed postgame plans. Uekman said he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go out that night, but would let Swanson know. Before Uekman left, he told Swanson, “Love ya.”

“Getting off the bus, keys in my hand, just kind of talking outside, and just thought it was another Saturday night. Little did I know,” Swanson said. “It’s those things that kind of just stick with you. I’ll never forget that.”

Swanson received a phone call the next morning. Uekman was found unresponsive in his apartment. Swanson jumped in his truck and sped to the hospital. On the way, Swanson called his parents, Gina and Todd, who were in town for the week between Arkansas home games to celebrate Gina’s birthday that day.

Even though Garrett Uekman (right) was a year younger, he and Travis Swanson were close to inseparable. Courtesy of Michelle Uekman

“He was devastated and could barely speak,” Gina said. “Of course, that’s every parent’s nightmare. You’re trying to know what’s happening and of course you’re very upset. At the time, we had no idea if Garrett was at the hospital or told anything or being allowed in.

“Unfortunately, Todd and I just reassured him that it would be fine and he was a healthy young man. Obviously, that wasn’t the way it was.”

She didn’t know what else to say. Swanson reached the hospital and sprinted inside the emergency room. He looked left and saw a waiting room filled with strangers.

Then he looked right.

Arkansas’ then-director of player operations, Mark Robinson, was with another of Uekman's friends, who was slumped in a chair, bawling. Slowly, other friends started showing up.

Uekman died. He was 19 years old. Later, they found out he had an enlarged heart. Swanson said it was telling because Uekman was one of the “most big-hearted people that you could ever really meet.”

“Our entire friend group at that point, it rocked our world,” Emily said. “We were 20 at the time, and for all of that to happen -- he was on the football field the night before. So it totally rocks everyone’s world.”

There were memorial services and vigils. Uekman’s parents, Michelle and Danny, drove to Fayetteville and saw Swanson on Sunday leaving the hospital. On Monday, the Uekmans spoke to the Razorbacks and said their son would have wanted them to play LSU that weekend.

“You’re in a place that you’re overwhelmed, and the mom and dad in both of us just -- we felt for them because they were just devastated,” Michelle Uekman said. “You wanted to comfort these kids in that moment.”

Swanson started honoring Uekman that week by writing his initials, “GU,” on his wrist and his number,“88,” on his gloves. It was his way to still have his friend with him.

Swanson stayed close with the Uekmans. His mom told him he should consider developing a relationship with Uekman’s family. They trade Facebook messages and talk on the phone. Uekman’s high school friends set up the Garrett Uekman Foundation. Swanson goes to their major event yearly, donating game-worn gear for auction last summer.

“After [it] all quiets down, life goes on and that’s a hard reality,” Michelle Uekman said. “So our forever-changed lives still go on. To know that he’s not forgotten is just very special to us. That’s something that we can hang on to, that they do remember him.”

One of the people who comforted Swanson was Emily. They met as freshmen when she walked into Room C319 in their freshman dorm and decided against playing spin the bottle with the rest of her friends. This sent her wandering around the dorms, and she saw Swanson playing electric guitar. She asked if she could hang out. He said sure. They went to eat and became close friends for almost three years before deciding to date in 2012.

Less than two years later, they got married. The Uekmans attended the wedding.

Charms hanging at the bottom of her bouquet were Travis' and Emily's way of remembering Garrett on their wedding day. Courtesy of Travis Swanson

As Emily Holder walked down the aisle to become Emily Swanson, charms hung from the bottom of her bouquet. Only Emily and Travis knew they were there, reminding the couple of those they wanted to be there but who couldn’t be. One was a picture of Uekman. In Swanson’s pocket during the ceremony was a token with “88” on it. On the biggest day of their lives, they made sure to include their friend.

“It was tough, especially because you have the idea and you think that’ll be a good idea,” Swanson said. “It’s one thing to think it, and it’s one thing to actually go through with it and see it up there on the altar.

“She has it and she’s holding her bouquet and you see the charms; it was emotional. It really was.”

After the ceremony, the Uekmans walked into the reception and the Swansons were standing there. They hugged. Cried. Travis told Michelle, “He’s here.” Michelle said, “I know.”

Then Swanson reached into his pocket and pulled out the token.

“I was just blown away that he thought of Garrett on that day,” Michelle said. “So Emily came over and she had her bouquet, and he showed us her thing on her bouquet, and I was just -- we were just, I think, speechless.”

By the time of the wedding, Travis was close with his father-in-law, Bill. They met before Travis and Emily started dating and bonded over football. Bill loved the Razorbacks.

Having Travis as a friend and then as family meant Bill could brag to his friends. Bill would try -- and fail -- to pepper Travis for inside information about Arkansas and, later, the Detroit Lions.

Bill Holder would regularly try to get inside information from Travis about his beloved Razorbacks. Courtesy of Travis Swanson

“Some people talk about their in-laws, and they can’t stand them. I love my in-laws,” Travis said. “That was kind of the one thing that when Emily and I, we first started dating, when I’d go see her -- family, football was the one thing we just had in common. He loved it. I played it.

“So it was something that we could always talk about. Obviously, I was dating his daughter so I wanted to make a good impression. So yeah, that was always really special between us.”

Bill sent Travis long text messages offering advice and, of course, football questions. Then he’d send a short message to his daughter just asking, "What’s up?"

A former Navy submariner who loved giving and receiving attention, he had heart issues and complications from diabetes. Whenever Bill went into the hospital, Emily almost immediately traveled home to Little Rock, driving if the Swansons were in Fayetteville or flying if they were in Detroit.

Travis understood. He handled everything. It’s his family, but it’s her dad. Travis visited when he could.

The last time he did, Travis left Bill a football on his favorite recliner as a present for when he was discharged from the hospital. He figured Bill would see it and show it off to his friends.

Bill never went home.

He died on April 26, 2016, because of his deteriorating health and a fall in the hospital. In the funeral announcement, the Garrett Uekman Foundation was one of two places the family asked to have donations sent.

Emily has struggled with her father’s death. There are days when Travis comes home and they sit in silence. As Travis' mother suggested after Uekman died, he simply is there for Emily, however she needs him to be there. Usually, he’s the one who snaps her out of any funk she’s in.

“This was the first time that I could not say anything,” Travis said. “I could not do anything to help it, and that was just -- it hurt me a lot to see her and her family like that.

“Still, even to this day, it’s rough because you’re still -- there’s still this whole period of coping and the new normal and it’s just, it’s going to take a while.”

Travis Swanson was in Detroit’s locker room before the preseason opener against Pittsburgh. Something felt off. He glanced at his phone, waiting for a message to come. It never would.

Those messages Bill sent his son-in-law were often long, inspirational thoughts Travis used to focus before games. Although he mourned his father-in-law, Travis shelved his pain to help his wife and mother-in-law. Reality of his losses hit when his phone didn’t go off at Heinz Field.

“That was hard for me,” Travis said. “Just because I was waiting for it and reality came and slapped me across the face. It’s still, I don’t think there will be a defining moment where you’re just like, ‘Oh, I’m cool with everything.’

“That won’t ever happen, at least for me.”

During that process, Travis grabbed his marker. He had already contemplated doing what he was about to do. On his left wrist, near his silicone wedding ring, he wrote “BH” for the first time. He put the initials of his father-in-law close to the ring he wears to honor his wife.

Then, instead of receiving a message, he sent one. To Emily. All it had was a picture of his left wrist. It was all he needed to say.