One of the downsides to having a large family is that there are a lot of funerals. I would attend funerals or hear of a relative passing that I vaguely knew or had only heard of in passing. The first loved one I truly lost was my Aunt Linda. She stood less than 5 feet tall but made up for it with her laugh and attitude. She loved Candy Crush and always knew what buttons to push to make me open up. My fondest memory with her is when I was eleven years old. My cousins and I were staying in her house and I accidentally put a frozen pizza in the microwave on oven time. Needless to say, the house was full of smoke and laughter. It's now an inside joke for the family, and why I’m still not allowed to use her microwave. My Aunt Linda even gave me a toy microwave as a graduation gift. 

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 Then suddenly, she was gone. Her death wasn’t expected and left me reeling. I hit the first stage of grief hard. I simply couldn’t believe she was gone. I had just seen her a few months ago. Obviously, there’s been a mistake. If I call her phone, she’ll pick up and explain. Then the realization hit. I’ll never hear her say “Miss Brooke” again. Sometimes, I’ll go to call her and then remember she’s gone. I’ll never hear her voice again, and maybe one day I’ll forget it. One day, I’ll try to describe her to my kids, and I know I’ll fall short. Now, whenever I smell pizza, especially one that’s slightly burnt, I think of her.  She’s dead, and I still have to move forward. Grief will turn into guilt and make you feel like the world should stop and grieve with you. Then I remind myself that grief is just love with nowhere to go. I can miss her and keep going, because I know that’s what she’d want. You don’t have to fight grief. You can accept it as it comes and goes, and remember what made you love them.