Great Love

Great love moves you, it moves all of you…

It hits you like a Spring morning.
The brisk air, warm sun, sound of life all around you, the realization of a fresh start.

Great love feels like the home you never knew you missed.
Before it you were a wanderer, now suddenly you found a reason to stay still.
But when the ground becomes shaky, when those four walls start the crumble,
You don’t shatter, you disappear.
Rendered homeless.

No matter how many nights you fall asleep telling yourself it’ll be okay, deep down you know it won’t.
You feel it in your dreams, in your waking breath.
But that’s okay too.
His absence isn’t a void that needs to be filled.
He is irreplaceable, and that’s what great love does, it changes you.

While others are telling you to move on, to let it go, you can’t.
A piece of you will always hold him, will always love him and will always want to.
That doesn’t mean you’re stuck, it means you’re human.
And being human isn’t about closing our hearts to heal, it’s keeping them open to let life in.

All of it. The pain and the ecstasy.

Everyone who has experienced great love also risked losing it.
Except the truth is you never lose it, you cherish it.
Every look. Every touch. Every tear.
You’ll never be the same and you’re eternally grateful for it. For him.
With each passing day, each exhale of heartache, you’re still living.

Great love moved you, it moved you forward.




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The Next Generation of a Mothers Love

There’s a point in every girls life where eventually the daughter becomes the mother. It’s not when you have kids and it’s not when you get married. It’s the day you start taking care of your own mother to protect her.

On December 29, 2017 I stopped being the daughter. Riding in the ambulance with my 95-year-old grandmother that morning, I arrived at the hospital- alone- only to be told there was nothing they could do. I waited for my mother to arrive to relay the bad news.

The time spent alone collecting my thoughts, trying to grasp this new reality I was living in, was nothing compared to the mental preparation of telling my mother that her own mother had passed.

In these moments I stopped being the child. At 28-years-old I still fain to call myself a child because the connotation depicts a sort of innocent, protectiveness. A mothers bubble that I was always safe in and as long as I stayed there would never have to face the harsh world on my own.

That bubble burst when I had to sign the papers accepting my grandmothers death. Then, in the hour that followed, holding my mothers hand as she watched her own lay there still.

I emphasize my solitude throughout this experience.

By taking on these moments solely, without the comfort of a loved one or family member, I recognized I have become my mother and my grandmother. Both incredibly strong women in a matriarchal family.

So while my grandmother had passed on I had assumed all her responsibility and strength moving forward. A trait she had passed down to my mother, one I have always admired in both of them. Now I can admire it in myself as well.

Saying goodbye is never easy. As the daughter, I was once an observer needing protection. But now I know I can protect my own mother because she needs it. I love my stubborn, full of life grandmother so much that rather than seeing her death as a weakness I view it as an opportunity to be the woman she passed down for me to be. I will be the next generation of a mothers love.


In dedication to my grandmother, Gloria (August 1, 1922 – December 29, 2017)