Tears at the Beginning and the End

February is typically the month of love. For me, this year and every year after, it is the month of loss. It’s strange how the calendar doesn’t change just because your world does. The last two weeks have been a fog I just can’t seem to get out of.

My mind keeps bouncing from memory to memory, trying to hold on to as much as I can for as long as I can. I keep the memories on replay. I need to hold on to all the love, laughter, and lessons. Even in her final days, my Aunt Dayna was handing out all three.

Growing up, I was always told this story: when I was about 18 months old, I had surgery. Apparently, I went in a happy-go-lucky child and came out miserable. I no longer trusted adults unless they were my momma. I associated “big people” with pain. Dayna would come over and visit. She would try to pick me up, and I would cry. It eventually got to the point where she would just keep me on her lap and say, “I AM YOUR AUNT DAYNA. YOU WILL LOVE ME.”

In one of our final conversations, she looked up at me and said, “Remember, I’ll always be your Aunt Dayna, and I love you.”

Tears in my eyes, I grinned and said, “I know.” It was quite possibly the most full-circle experience of my life. Our book started with tears in my eyes and came to an end the same.