Time is fickle.

There’s something profoundly striking about the passage of time—how fast it goes, how memories loop back like echoes, and how moments can feel both fleeting and eternal. The days seem to stretch endlessly when you’re in the thick of parenting, but now, watching my kids grow taller, lankier, and sassier, I’m filled with nostalgia. It feels like only yesterday they were tiny, snuggly babies, and I’d marvel at how slowly the hours passed. Yet, here we are—nine and six years later—navigating the often tricky and emotional journey of growing up. Parenting is full of challenges, but also moments that make me pause, reflect, and wish I could hold on a little longer.

A year ago, we said our final goodbye to Al: a loving Dad, Grandpa, Husband, Brother, Uncle, and Friend. The past year has been a blend of loss and newfound life, full of accomplishments, moments of grace, and plenty of days where we barely knew which way was up. This ‘one-year mark’ is a bittersweet milestone—a cultural reminder that grief has its own timeline. It’s a poignant opportunity to honor the fact that time is our most precious and irreplaceable resource. We can’t rewind it, freeze it, or wish it away; it just keeps moving forward. Like Dolly Parton once said in Steel Magnolias, “Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it’s marchin’ across your face.”

I know Al would be proud of all we’ve done over this past year, just as he was until his final moments. Even though we’d love to turn back the clock, it’s been nothing short of miraculous to feel his presence guiding us. The ways we’ve felt him are almost magical.

Signs From Above

When Miles and Mads were grappling with understanding this loss, I shared with them that cardinals are heavenly signs. Throughout what seemed like an endless January, we had the most vivid cardinal visiting our feeder, often bringing his friends along. Seeing those bright red flashes against the dull winter landscape brought us comfort and a sense of Al’s enduring love.

Then there are the rainbows. In my almost forty years, I’ve never experienced such a frequency of awe-inspiring rainbows as we have in the past year. It started with the one he sent over his own wake and funeral. Each rainbow that’s appeared since has stopped me in my tracks, and I find myself running across the yard, camera in hand, calling for Dale and the kids to come witness it. We’ve become so attuned to spotting them after every rain shower, and it feels like Al is reminding us to look for the beauty in the aftermath of the storm.

I still find myself praying to Al—for rain, for it to stop, for clarity when my world feels upside down. It’s bittersweet knowing that while he was here, I may not have asked for those things. It’s a personal struggle I continue to grapple with.

Live Out Loud

If there’s anything the passage of this first year has taught me, it’s the vital importance of loving loudly. Tell people how much they mean to you. Hug your kids, your parents—hold on a little longer. Find joy in the simplest pleasures: a walk, a book, a favorite hobby. Cherish what you love, and do it wholeheartedly.

I’m reminded of the iconic lyrics from Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time, a song that beautifully captures the echoes of love and memory:

If you’re lost you can look—and you will find me, time after time.

These words remind me of the precious, irreplaceable moments we have, and how, even when time feels like it’s slipping away, love has a way of finding us, again and again.