Four years have passed since the tragedy that took the lives of five people - Kaveporn Punpare, Nusara Suknamai, Eric Swaffer, Izabela Lechowicz and the Leicester City owner Khun Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha.

It says everything about the impact Khun Vichai had on the club and the city that his death prompted a feeling of grief for many. This holds true despite the fact very few of us even met him. Fewer still would have ever thought it possible for the owner of a football club to build such a bond with the fanbase.

That isn’t just a comparison with the likes of Mike Ashley or the Glazers. There are plenty of others sitting somewhere on the scale but Vichai was firmly at the other end.

Neither was the connection purely about the unprecedented success of 2016, although that helped. This was someone you trusted with your football club, who went above and beyond expectations and who helped create an unforgettable period of our lives.

I’ve written about this before for FourFourTwo, but that was only two days after it happened. It feels much stranger writing about it now, even though so much time has drifted by. I had to double and triple check it’s been four years.

That’s mainly because the pandemic has warped all sense of time. It also reminded me of how I felt at various periods in the aftermath of the news. I’m not given to feeling sentimental about people I’ve never met but I vividly remember how time seemed almost to grind to a halt. In the seconds afterwards, trying to make immediate sense of it. In the minutes afterwards, processing what had happened. In the hours and days, waiting for some solidity.

Just over 24 hours passed before the club released the news that those travelling in the helicopter had died. It felt longer. It strikes me it was something close to grief even for those who weren’t close to Vichai in particular - we wanted to know so we could begin to move on.

And I actually wept. It took a few days. I went to the stadium, saw the flowers, bent to lay down a scarf and suddenly my knees buckled and I was crying.

That wasn’t the kind of grief you feel for someone close to you though. It was more because of the sadness that had built up around the football club and the people who hold it dear. I thought a lot about all the people I’d got to know through this shared interest and obsession.

Football bottles up a tension that rarely relents at times. One game’s over and you’re worried about the next one and suddenly here’s this completely shocking and unexpected thing that offers a release and a sense of perspective all at once.

It turned what would otherwise have been an unremarkable trip to face Cardiff into one of the most important games in recent history - the ball hitting the back of the net giving that opportunity for a much-needed outpouring of positive emotion.

Grief also brings the sense that nothing will ever be the same again, but life quickly moves on and eventually begins to take on some shape. I remember thinking the proximity of the tragedy meant our stadium would always remind us of that night. In the moment, you don’t think about what will actually happen - the club have, with the statue and the garden, created something positive around the stadium that honours what Vichai achieved. And time moves on.

The nature of the club’s ownership has come back to the fore in recent weeks for some. There’s been a lot of talk about how Vichai would have been more decisive in getting rid of Brendan Rodgers. This is the calculated risk you take when, as figures of huge public interest, you’re actually very private. Despite the depth of feeling towards them from most Leicester fans, the Srivaddhanaprabhas have never been ones to open up on a day-to-day basis.

That means you could tell it was reluctant when Top’s recent programme notes eventually addressed the managerial situation. They’re not even in the country for the majority of games. Yet they’re always warmly welcomed. The scenes when Top walked around the market square in Eindhoven prior to our game at PSV last season showed gratitude and, let’s face it, genuine love.

It seems laughable now but I questioned their ownership at first, and I wasn’t the only one. Why did they want the club? What were they going to do with it? They were real concerns, but they only came out of how much people care about their football club.

It’s the same reason people have been questioning Top’s judgment in the past few weeks. We care so much. And when you’re losing every single week in various different ways, it really gets to you. I didn’t think the owners would ever face any criticism given the highs and lows of their time at the club, but time moves on. Perspective changes. Priorities reappear. Even if that empty seat next to Top still tugs at you every now and then.

One remarkable thing about Vichai is that when I think about him now, I don’t actually think about the title win. Instead I go straight to the feeling, watching a halting live stream of the Player of the Year awards - perhaps more than once - when announcements were made that he had given millions to the city’s hospital or university. It didn’t seem like something football club owners do. Maybe it is now.

But then supporting Leicester City over the past decade or so has involved dealing with a neverending series of things you didn’t think could happen. Trophies and trips taking you to such a high you couldn’t have imagined possible. A terrible tragedy that still feels horribly surreal. Each one telling you something about life, and, if even for a just few hours or days, bringing you closer to those around you.