After my parents and younger siblings moved down south and my older sister and I stayed up north, my sister and I would often stop by our nana’s house after our classes which were right down the road from where she lived. We always looked forward to our visits. Every time we would get to her building, and we heard her voice ask “who is it?” on the intercom, my sister would say something like “Tina Turner” or “Elvis Presley,” just so we could hear her laugh before the buzzer went off and the door unlocked. I could still smell the distinct scent of her home, and see in my mind as I close my eyes - the glow of her smile as she greeted us at the door.

Her cancer was always like a fly on the wall, it was there, but sometimes she would be so physically well out of control of her attitude or the fluctuations of the sickness itself that you would forget that she was sick. She was always so strong and good at fighting the negatives, even when they caught up with her, she always had a way of pushing herself back into the positive mindset - something I have always envied.

As our visits continued, her health got worse - and fast. I remember telling my mom that it was a good idea to send my step-dad out to help her around the house when her coughing was getting worse and it was making her lose her balance. A few days after our last pizza and salad date, she was in bed fading in and out of consciousness due to the medications that hospice put her on. 

Still though, my sister and I visited; we both spent time in her room talking to her and despite it all, she still continued to have the positive disposition that seemed to come so naturally to her. Through losing my step-grandmother, I have learned many things, but the most important thing I have learned is the importance and beauty of compassion.

I experienced and witnessed so many acts of compassion in the room of her apartment that I’ve been in so many times for our family visits. I experienced so many acts of compassion in that room of hers, that the familiarity of everything that my life and my understanding of my life - changed, with every single act of compassion that I experienced or saw.

I witnessed her older sister massaging lotion into her legs because her skin was dry, I witnessed the hospice nurse holding her hand, telling her jokes, and making her smile while she was too weak to speak; I witnessed her waking up to the sound of her name from various voices of her loved ones.. her eyes filled with life and love, every single time; I witnessed her reaching for my hand, holding me in her arms, and fighting her tiredness just so she could go through a few pages of the latest Vogue magazine with me.

I witnessed my step dad losing sleep just to make sure that she was monitored through the night, as well as dealing with hospice and making sure she had everything she needed. I experienced my cousin laying in bed next to her, her father in law sitting in a chair next to her, her sister in law, her brother in law, her friends.. all there, at least one person, at all times - sometimes sitting in silence and sometimes talking with her if she was awake.

Through the absolutely painful experience that still hurts me to think about, I remember feeling myself change. I remember being in complete awe of the mysterious ways in which human relationships and kind acts can help a person move through life.. or in her case, out of life.

I learned from my nana, that the most important thing that you can do for anybody is love them, genuinely care, and be there - that we are all human and that this is the very reason why we should be there for others.

After she passed away, I never really felt that she left me. I can feel a piece of her disposition sewn into mine. I smile at the thought of her and I am thankful for her presence in my life, even after she is gone. The answer is always love; it’s what keeps us going and it’s what keeps us alive even after we’ve all gone. There is never a reason not to give it.

I feel a general love for the individuals I meet, like my soul is composed of tiny fragments coming straight from the soul of every person I encounter. I sometimes imagine that there is a crack in my chest where the light of my heart creeps out, it spreads everywhere onto everything I can see or experience. I sometimes imagine even further, that the light of everyone else’s heart is spilling out of the cracks in their chests too - and that my light and their light collides into a type of understanding beyond our full comprehension. 

I’m just thankful that I can feel it at all.

As a child, I remember being told often that one day I would look back at old pictures of myself and exclaim, “what was I thinking wearing that?” or “wow, look at how ridiculous my hair looks.” I never really believed that this would ever happen because as time is changing things, you don’t realize it until its really passed. You don’t realize how far time has run from you until you are reaching and begging to catch it. You never really think you’ve changed until it’s thrown upon you like a bucket of cold water after you’ve fainted or fallen asleep. 

But now I know it’s true. I look back on pictures of myself and I think of who I was at that time. I think about how sure I was of myself. I think about how much I would learn in the years to follow - and like a boomerang, it all comes back to me here, now, in this moment; to who I have become; and I realize that the things I thought I knew before, I never really knew at all. The things that I never thought I’d figure out are starting to come to me, and like the eerie green growing glow of dawn on a world of darkness, the story of my life is a growing, cascading, spreading virus of uncertainty and curiosity - and the only chance I have at gaining anything from it’s pure wonder, is embracing it with an open mind and an open heart.