A memory from came up on Facebook today. A picture I took of my Dad 8 years ago. I shared it and wrote a little something about it and by the end of it I was in tears.

Grief is so weird. I realize now that we really never get over some things. Nor should we, to be honest. Some things are just too monumental. You don’t move past it as much as you move around it.

I didn’t know 8 years ago that I would only have just four years left with my father. It would have been unthinkable.

For a long time, many years, I’ve had a sense of urgency about life. A sense of finality. A need to cherish moments and say the things that need to be said and not to sweat the small stuff. I’ve always been so profoundly aware that we have so little time.

I think about the end of my life and what I’ll remember, what will be important, and really all it is, is love. Love we shared, love we felt, connections we made, moments, family, friendships, the time we spent feeding our soul with things that bring us joy… these are the things that are important, I think.

I saw that picture and I remembered that day when we sat on his porch in Barbados, music playing, watching the sun go down. I remember it because I wanted to connect with him. To have a moment, just the two of us, talking, enjoying our surroundings, just being, together, because we had so little of that. And we did. We had a moment. We connected. And we created this memory. And I’m so grateful for that. It was a simple thing. But it was everything. It was all that mattered. It is all that matters.