It’s been a year since we lost my aunt, and honestly, it feels different than any other loss I’ve experienced. My aunt was the last of my maternal relatives, my mom’s youngest sister, and after my mom passed in 2007, she took on the role of a second mom to me. She was my guide, my comfort, my constant, and so much more. I always knew I could turn to her for advice, wisdom, or just a moment of warmth when things were tough.

She was there when I learned about CPTSD, and she stood by me as I opened up about the abuse I’d faced as a child. Her love and support were unwavering, and she was the closest thing to a grandmother for my daughter, something I’ll always be so grateful for.

Grief can bring moments of happiness

I’ve been reflecting a lot today, and what’s interesting is that instead of feeling overwhelmed by sadness, I’m filled with gratitude for the beautiful memories we shared. Of course, I miss her, but I find myself smiling when I think about all the good times. I used to think I’d be weighed down by grief today, but instead, I’m celebrating her life and everything she gave me.

One of my favorite memories is her love of poetry. She always had a blessing to share, and one of the last ones she gave me during Thanksgiving 2013 has stayed with me. It’s called “Beannacht” by John O’Donohue. You can read the full blessing here, and there’s a bit that really sticks with me:

“On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.”

My aunt was all about kindness, love, and helping people find their balance when life felt heavy. She had this incredible ability to connect with everyone she met, and you couldn’t help but feel her warmth. It’s no surprise that to know her was to love her.

Remembering the good times.

I miss her. I really do. There have been countless moments over the past year when I’ve wanted to reach out for one of her pep talks or hear her voice of encouragement. But I realize now that her love is still here with me, in the memories, in the lessons she taught me, and in the way she made everyone feel like they mattered.

Grief doesn’t always show up in the way we expect it. For me, it’s less about sadness and more about honoring her life and the joy she brought into mine. My aunt would never want me to be weighed down by grief; she’d want me to celebrate the love and laughter we shared. Grief, after all, is just love with no place to go, and the love I have for her is endless.

So today, I choose to remember her with a smile. I’ll keep carrying her legacy with me and sharing the love she gave me with the world.