As soon as the cold creeps in and evidence of the holidays fill the stores, I feel a familiar void that comes with remembering loved ones no longer with us. Another year without them at the holiday table. It’s easy to dismiss those thoughts, but I like to linger in the memories for a moment, hoping to preserve a part of them.
There's comfort in unearthing opportunities to remember, but the sadness has dulled. I know "forgotten" is something my grandparents will never be.
It’s within my grandpa’s reliability I found hope that all men are not the same, and it’s worth waiting for a good one (and I did). When I hesitate or waver in uncertainty, I’m reminded to trust myself the way he trusted me. And it’s within the intuitive, wickedly smart force who was my grandma that I always find my power as a woman.
My children will know them because they know me. I carry them with me.
It’s a place in my heart I’ve often thought was held only for those who have left us, but I’ve since realized I frequently feel the presence of others who still walk this earth.
It’s within my husband’s integrity and work ethic that I find strength to make it count even after a long day. Or the way my father-in-law never acts to be accepted or approved by another that I’m reminded to do what’s right for me, not what’s popular. It’s my sixth grade teacher pushing my hand across the paper, reminding me the gift of the written word. These people, and so many others, are the real influencers in this world.
Who do you carry with you?
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