Hello, Goodbye.

Ah, the game of life.  It's been pondered by many, figured out by few.  How quickly we abandon our carefree days of infantile innocence, only to move quickly toward a cognitive minefield of philosophical questions and identity crises.  All too often, we crumble under the pressure to find ourselves, paralyzed by a daunting mission to define our purpose, our "raison d'etre".  We feel obligated to know who we are and where we're going, to plan for tomorrow before we've begun to live today. Life's small moments drown beneath a sea of bigger aspirations; we're always hoping that something better will come tomorrow, after all.

But one day tomorrow will not come.

I was reminded of this fact on Monday morning when I was woken up out of a sound sleep to learn of my grandmother's passing. At 5:34 a.m., my rude awakening did not come with a snooze button. I was forced to face reality in a way I'd never imagined. The irony is, the reality of touching my sweet Nana's lifeless shoulder in her bed down the hall from me was nothing short of surreal. For a split second, I had thought she'd wake up, that she hadn't really taken her last breaths. It couldn't be. But it was. I blinked and she was gone.

I never believed the nurse when she said the cancer would win the battle. My grandma was too strong, too stubborn. No, she said. She's good now, but wait. The cancer will come like a thief in the night.

And so it did. Just like a thief in the night. But while it stole my grandmother's corporeal existence, it didn't manage to rob me of the memories. When I think about dear Margaret, I realize that her reason for being was simple: family. With my bittersweet memories of her laugh, her singing, and her love for food, I take with me the realization that life's purpose doesn't have to be so complicated. For her, it was the simple things that meant the most. And oftentimes, it is the simplest of things that make the most profound impact.

Connect. Love. Laugh. 

Repeat.