Bittersweet

Over the past three weeks, as I've been preparing to move, I lost not one but two dearly beloved family members. First we lost my grandpa, my dad's dad, my family's patriarch, my Papa.

We had just barely begun to grapple with the hole his death left, when, three weeks to the day later, on Papa's birthday, we lost my Auntie Vicki, my dad's sister, lover-fighter-planner-giver-truthteller-bullshitcaller so full of life, so feisty and so at the core of our family.

Here she is dancing at my cousin's wedding with the bride, Amy, and her son, DJ. This picture is her true essence...always celebrating, always loving.

I cannot believe they're gone, and as I prepare to leave tomorrow, I realize what the term bittersweet really means. The events of the last few weeks are the very reason I haven't yet moved away from home. This is what I was always fearful of: missing time with loved ones, because life moves so very fast.

But there's a part of me that's wiser now, that understands that life is always moving and passing us by, no matter your choices. We make the best decisions we can, and in the end, if we're anything like Papa and Auntie Vicki, we won't fear death, knowing that we've lived a good life. To me, led by their examples, that means taking life by the horns, working hard, fighting the good fight, loving out loud, calling out the bullshit and leaving a legacy of love and spirit. I only hope I can make them proud in this next chapter of my life.