I have often talked about lessons that keep coming back to slap me in the face.

One lesson I've been learning my whole life isn't so much slapping me in the face as it is wrapping me in a warm embrace.

"Love can also mean letting go." -Glenda Green

I ignored it for years. Pretended like it didn't exist. I felt if I wasn't actively trying to influence things or people that I wasn't trying hard enough. In fact, you can educate yourself, set goals, and work like crazy to achieve them. Those are the things in life you can drive, but there are many things that we cannot influence or control. I know that seems like an obvious truth, but I don't really think I believed that for a long time. I physically tried to will things not to be true.

It wasn't until I saw someone I love trying to bend reality over and over again, that I recognized this trait in myself.

The kind of resistance we create by trying to fight things that just are can make us sick. It damages our physical bodies. It creates destructive thought patterns. It erodes our self-awareness and our self-worth.

It is usually when someone dies, that we are confronted with the ultimate lesson in acceptance. I have lost a brother, a young friend, and most recently my grandma, in two short years, so I've had some practice.

Right now, my uncle is dying and I can't do anything about it.

He's special to me because he walked me down the aisle to meet my husband under an archway of roses into eternity. He's special to a lot of women in my family because when other fathers, brothers, and husbands passed away or out of our lives, he stayed. 

He listened - a lot. He cooked for my grandmother. He was silent much of the time, so when he spoke to me I soaked in every word. He smoked cigarettes on the front porch and stared off into space. When he smoked he propped an elbow on top of his crossed legs and went somewhere in his mind.

For all the things I will never know about his life as a younger man, I know all I need to know about who he is to me. He is a constant.

Now he's sick and all I want to do is drive to Canada and have a cigarette with him. (I have always secretly felt that if I smoked next to him on the porch, I might catch a glimpse of where he goes in his mind.)

Since I can't make that happen, I'm going to say: Uncle Abe, You will not be forgotten

We were love. We are love. We will be love.

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