Life & Death

Welcome, lovelies and beau’s! Today, we’ll be picking up where we left off. In last week’s blog post, “In Loving Memory,” I shared stories and lessons from some incredible people who were close to me and had passed away by the time I graduated high school. I reflected on the memories we shared, the lessons they taught me, and how passing on kindness in our everyday lives can create a ripple effect that makes a meaningful difference.

Today, I want to honor others who have passed on but will never be forgotten. Their memory will continue to live on for eternity, carried forward by the lives they touched and the love they left behind.

Life, Death, and Eternity

Before I share more, I want to reflect on life and death—and how they connect to eternity.

Life and death are two sides of the same thread—one begins where the other ends, yet both are woven into the fabric of eternity. Life is fleeting, marked by moments of joy, struggle, and growth. Death, though final in the physical sense, is not an end but a transformation—a passing into memory, legacy, and perhaps something beyond. In this cycle, the lives that touch us continue to echo, shaping the way we understand existence and the infinite nature of connection.

During our lifetime, we have the chance to leave a mark on everyone we encounter: family, friends, colleagues, classmates, teammates, and even strangers. The simplest yet most profound way to make a lasting impact is by being kind and living authentically. It’s not grand gestures that endure but the quiet moments of honesty, transparency, and compassion—the way we listen, support, and love. These are the threads that weave our presence into the lives of others, ensuring that even after we’re gone, the essence of who we were remains.

Faint Memories

To begin sharing the stories of those who have since passed on but whose spirit remains, here are some of the moments that have stayed with me over time—simple but profound reminders of the lasting impact they’ve had on my life.

First up is my childhood best friend’s father, who passed away in 2015. His death came as another shock in my life, especially because I always considered her family an extension of my own. Tragically, it was my friend who made the devastating discovery and I can’t even begin to imagine the weight of that memory.

John was such a lovable, hardworking individual. Anyone who had the privilege of knowing him had nothing but kind words to say. One memory that stands out is when we would visit her father at Dominick’s (the old grocery store chain) while he was working—just to say hi. For some reason, that simple moment has stayed with me. Another memory is when I joined them at a golf club event. I don’t recall the specifics, other than the happiness of watching her spend time with her dad, learning to hit off a tee. But it was one of those quiet, shared moments that sticks with you, even when the details fade.

Her entire family had such a huge impact on my life, and it’s hard to remember all the moments now. You never think about how fleeting life can be—the most ordinary interactions become previous memories in hindsight. Most of the time, we were just hanging out at her house. John would make us dinner or share small moments with us. At the time, it all felt so usual, so routine. But looking back, those moments were fragments of time woven into something meaningful—quiet proof of his presence in our lives. John was such a devoted father. After losing his wife—my friend’s mother—many years prior, he did his best to be there for her in every way possible. His love and dedication are things I’'ll never forget.

Next is the passing of my grandfather—the man, the myth, the legend. He was someone who helped raise me, and I spent so much of my childhood with him while my mom worked and my dad was busy. He was someone I looked up to and cherished every second with. At the time, he worked at a golf course. I have such fond memories of those days. He’d take me for rides around the course in the golf cart, showing me the grounds. Sometimes he’d even bring home a bucket of sand for me to play in—such a simple gesture, but it meant the world to me.

Other times, we’d head to the park and play together or share some ice cream. He was also the one who taught me how to ride my bike without training wheels—a moment that’s still clear in my mind today. That feeling of pride and freedom when I finally figured it out is forever tied to him.

I also remember playing with his Christmas village in the basement—the tiny townspeople and miniature buildings laid out like a perfect little snowglobe. I’d spend hours moving the people around, left in my own imagination. But my absolute favorite memory is when he brought me a swan egg from the golf course. I’m not entirely sure why he had it—maybe the swan left it behind, or they had to clear the swans from the area. Regardless, it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen, and I’ll never forget how proud he was to share it with me.

While I was still in college, I experienced another loss that sent shockwaves through me—the passing of an old friend and fellow classmate, Matt. At that point in my life, we were no longer in touch, but hearing the news of his passing still hit me hard. I had met Matt while we were both attending UWP. Even though we were never the closest of friends, he had a way of leaving an impression on everyone he met. He had the sweetest soul—so caring, so encouraging, and supportive. There was a light about him, something that truly lifted up any room he walked into. He was fun, free-spirited, and always seemed to make the most of life. Thinking back, I don’t think I ever heard him complain about anything. He lived every second with joy and purpose.

His passing was the first tine I had lost someone my own age, and it was a type of grief I wasn’t prepared for. Loss is always painful, but realizing that someone you once knew was gone at just 25 years old was a stark reminder of how fragile life can be—and how important it is to cherish the moments we have with the people around us.

Then in 2020, I lost my grandma after a long battle. It had been a tough road for a while. She had been in a memory care home, and my mom and I visited her frequently—pretty much every other day without fail. As exhausting as that journey was, those visits were precious and timeless. We spent time with her, got to know her friends (including Millie), and took her for walks around the facility. Often when we visited, she wouldn’t always remember who we were. Sometimes she’d remember me as a baby and would tell my mom that I shouldn’t be left alone. Yet somehow, her smile always made everything better—a quiet reminder of the connection that remained even when her memory faded.

Before the memory care home, she was a huge part of my upbringing. She helped raise me, and we shared so many small but meaningful traditions. We’d play card games—War and Go Fish were our favorites. We’d watch Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune, walk around the block, or enjoy strawberries and sugar together as a little treat. But one of my favorite memories is from a shopping trip to Kohl’s with my mom. There was a playful moment between us when she jokingly said, “Come here, you!” as she tried to catch up with me using her walker. That was just the kind of person she was—playful yet serious, stern yet warm, always loving and supportive. She had a presence that made you feel safe and cared for. Even though she’s gone, her love still lingers in the lessons and memories she left behind.

Dennis was another family member who passed far too soon. While I can’t say I knew him well, I remember seeing him occasionally at my grandma’s house. He always seemed reserved—quietly present in the background—but there was something about his presence that felt calm, almost peaceful. He wasn’t someone who needed to fill the room with his words, yet his strength left an impression. Even though we didn’t share any close moments, his absence is still felt. Sometimes it’s not about how much time you spend with someone, but the energy they bring into your life. Dennis had a quiet steadiness about him, and that’s what lingers in my mind.

After 15 wonderful years, my beloved pup passed away in December 2023 from old age. Before her, I had a lovely beagle named Princess, who was the first puppy to ever catch my eye. But Mina—our little Dachshund—was my best friend in every sense of the word. I couldn’t go anywhere without her. When she was in the car, I’d make funny noises to entertain her—sometimes I still do it with my current fur baby. However, Mina had her quirks. She wasn’t a fan of much—she despised water, trembled through every car ride, and had no real interest in playing with toys. But what she did love, she loved wholeheartedly. Walks were her absolute favorite, followed closely by cuddling and sunbathing. She had this way of making every day brighter just by being there. I used to joke with her that she had to live forever. And while that wasn’t something she could do, she held on for a long time, giving me so many years of love and companionship. Losing her was incredibly hard, but I’ll always cherish the memories of her loyal, sweet, and often stubborn self.

Last but certainly not least, my Uncle Erv. He was a man I would consider a true leader—someone with a kind heart and a strong mind. When he set his mind to something, he got it done. It’s no surprise that he excelled as a police officer and even went on to become a police chief. He wasn’t just good as what he did—he was one of the best, if not the best. But beyond his career, he was a family man through and through. Every interaction I had with him was filled with love and support. He was steady, dependable, and always knew exactly what to say to make any situation better. While he may have been set in his ways at times, it was always rooted in wisdom and experience. He had a good head on his shoulders and carried himself with integrity. To me, he will always be remembered as a kind and gentle man—someone who left a lasting impact not just through his work, but through his strength and unwavering love he showed his family.

Life is fleeting, but the love and connection we share with others have a way of transcending time. Each of the people (and pets) I’ve lost left behind more than just memories—they left behind a part of themselves in the lessons they taught, the kindness they showed, and the quiet moments that still echo in my heart. From the unwavering love of my grandparents and the quiet strength of Dennis to the light Matt brought into every room and the loyal companionship of Mina, their presence lingers in the way I live, love, and remember. Even though they’re no longer physically here, their influence remains etched into the fabric of my life.

That’s the thing about life and death—while the physical presence may fade, the impact doesn’t. The moments we share, the lessons we learn, and the love we give all carry forward. In that way, life isn’t measured by the years, but by the imprint we leave behind. And in remembering them, I realize that nothing is truly lost—love after all, is eternal.

For the next post in the Eternity series, I’ll see you back here next Monday, March 24th, 2025. In the meantime, cherish the time you spend with those in your life, look back on the fond memories, and live each day with joy and purpose.

As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.**