6 years ago today, I experienced the most painful day of my entire life. It was the kind of pain that you actually can’t even imagine until you’ve experienced. I watched, heard, felt the life slip away from one of my sturdiest pillars. My Mama Joan. My greatest ally, confidant, and friend. In a matter of days our lives flipped upside down as we all grappled with a loss that no one saw coming.

In the days, weeks, and months that followed, the pain didn’t wane. It felt as if it was growing day by day, to the point where it was larger than life and I truly believed it would never go away.

A few weeks later, I wrote this blog about how I begged the Lord to let me feel things deeply, and how He followed through in a way I truly, truly hated. When I go back and read those words, I remember that 20 year old girl. She was the saddest she’d ever been, the most hurt, the most alone. She felt like that weight on her heart would never ease. She was scared of the new reality she was facing.

And for a while, that reality lingered.

It didn’t get better over a few days, or weeks, or months. Or it didn’t seem to.

You may have heard grief described as a giant ball in a box, and in that box is the grief button. At first, the ball is so big that the button is being pushed constantly, never letting up. But over time, the ball begins to shrink and creates more room in the box – it never goes away, but day by day it has more space to roll around without hitting the button. Sometimes, it hits it just right, and the sadness starts pouring back in, but only for a moment.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s the perfect analogy, and I’m so thankful that the ball has gotten smaller. Or maybe the box has gotten bigger. Regardless, for 6 years, the days have gotten a little bit easier one at a time.

To be totally honest, there have been times where I’ve been afraid of it getting any easier. I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want to forget. As painful as it was to be sad, it felt like a way to stay connected as time passed us by.

But I have to hold on to the belief that when you love someone, you’ll never really forget. I’ll never forget our Friday nights at the mall food court where my love for Chick-fil-a blossomed. I’ll never forget sitting on the driveway dumping sand out of our shoes after school before we could go in the house. I’ll never forget being called Pink Sunshine, and the words to “You Are My Sunshine” will live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life. I’ll never forget, but it doesn’t have to hurt.

As time passes, the painful memories don’t ever really go away, but we get to choose the happy ones, instead. We get to remember the best of her and be grateful for the time we had.

At this moment 6 years ago, I probably wouldn’t have believed that I’d ever go through another day where grief didn’t hit me like a brick wall. But I have, and while the grief is still there and just as real as it was on October 5, 2017, life has continued, joy is still out there, and our guardian angel is holding us tight.