Nothing ever prepares you for when a family member dies. Whether you talked with them everyday or saw them a couple times a year, it always feels like a piece of you goes with them. I recently had to help clean out my grandfathers house since his passing. I see where I get my collectors traits from. I also had a lot of time to think about grieving and death, that each time a family member has passed it was always a different experience.

The first death I’ve ever experienced was my Grandmother, Mary Jane. The Matriarch of our family, the glue, the mentor, our everything. If our family ever sat at a table, she was always at the head of it. She wouldn’t hold court, she would just watch and listen. She would make faces at us and she would speak her long years of wisdom when her grandchildren needed it most. And she would always know when we needed it before we would even go up to ask her for it. Grandma was soft, kind, and open hearted. She would make sure we were fed and happy. She always made sure her kids had beds to sleep on and a full tummy. Since this was my first experience with such a close family death it was hard and felt really empty, but the process was traditional.

Next, our family dog Bandit. She may be tiny, but she will always be fierce. Having a human best friend is such an honorable and enjoyable experience, but having a dog best friend is once in a lifetime. Of course, as a fond dog lover, I will enjoy the many relationships with dogs down the line. But that first family dog experience, it can never be repeated. It was always so odd to look back and really notice just how much she fit in with out crazy family, she was treated like royalty and always had a space with us at the dinner table. We always understood what she needed whether it was food, a walk, or just for us to leave her alone while she slept in her crate in the basement. And of course dogs are incredibly smart, so she picked up really fast that she was the queen of our little castle. That for 16 years of all of our lives, we were a family of 6.

Next was my aunt Maude and Godmother. If my Grandmother was sugar and everything nice, her first born was all spice. She was the badass and family ass kicker, she would protect and fight for her siblings and soon enough her nieces and nephews. She taught us to kick ass and take names. But she also experienced me girlhood. She would dress up with me, play dolls, and indulge in all things girl. She would help clean my room and taught me how to dress myself vs styling myself. “Everything had to match”, she would always say. All the Wawa trips she would take my sister and I on. And honestly if I got my storytelling ability from anyone, it was probably her, since she was always so invested in the lives of our Bratz dolls. When I first heard about her, it was through the phone while my dad was talking to his brother. It was unexpected and it always feels like this experience was left lingering months afterwards. I remember hearing the words that she had passed as my uncle spoke to my father, I felt my blood run cold as my own brothers muffled voice was the only thing that kept me grounded as he asked me “what happened? What did he say? What’s going on?”

Then my uncle Al passed. A fighter with a heart of gold and a soul angels would sing about. He was always shy and quiet at the parties. A lot like my grandmother in the sense of just watching and experiencing the family. He always had a safe feeling about him that even if I hadn’t seen him for months it didn’t feel that when he would wrap his arms around me for his comforting hugs. My uncle Al was a true man and an endless lover to my aunt. He never felt the need to prove that he was a manly man or that he was tough, he was never embarrassed about putting his wife on a pedestal and worshipping her. He had set the standard of men for a lot of the women in my family, what we saw was a man who didn’t put his ego first, but rather his wife and family.

Most recently, my grandfather, Tom. An artist, a cook, a reader, a gardener, best woodworker in southwest Florida but most importantly a captain. A man always looking for adventure in the new things he tries. Looking forward to the next day, planning and preparing. Fear and death were never on his agenda, his creativity and adventurous spirit live beyond him and into his grandchildren. Cleaning out his house was, numb, it didn’t feel weird but I would always have that voice in the back of my head reminding me what I was doing. Or rather why I was doing it. But when I wasn’t over thinking it, it felt more like. Random pause, but you know how as a kid you just want to dig through all your parents stuff? Just to see what they have? Or try on their clothes and shoes? Maybe just look at what knick-knacks they keep close to their bed. Thats what this felt like! Like I was going to get yelled at, but I really wouldn’t since he was gone. It felt cathartic. I knew so much about my grandfather and going through his house just felt like I was learning about him all over again.

But I think what really struck me, was just how much life he lived. Traveling, getting a patent design, sailing and living on his boat, moving from different states, meeting new people. Through all of that, each of his grandchildren can see themselves in every moment of his life. The writer, the photographer, the athlete, the musician, the gardener. He is always with us.

It will always feel like we want more time because it will never be enough time. Cherish your moments and embrace the future to continue what the people in your life taught you.

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day.