In Loving Memory…

Welcome lovelies and beau’s! I’m thrilled to introduce my newest blog series, Eternity—where we explore what it means to live on in our hearts forever. Stay tuned for heartfelt stories, reflections, and more.

Eternity is a concept that transcends time, a space where memory lingers and love never fades. As we reflect on the lives of those who have passed, we are reminded that though their presence may no longer be physically with us, their essence continues to shape our world. In loving Memory of those who are no longer here, we find comfort in the knowing that their legacy endures, timeless and unbroken, in the hearts of those they left behind.

This time of year marks the anniversary of my brother’s passing, and before I dive into that, I wanted to change things up this year. Grief has a way of pulling us into the same familiar patterns, but I’ve come to realize that his death—while deeply significant—was just one of many that shaped me. By the time I graduated high school, I had already lost eight people who played a meaningful role in my life. I remember one time I was talking with a friend back in high school sharing how many losses seemed to stack up so quickly, and she nodded, understanding that sentiment all too well herself.

Even back then, I recognized not only the heartache but also the profound impact each loss had on me. Every absence left its mark, shaping how I saw the world, how I valued connections, and how I carried the memories of those I had lost. As Maya Angelou once said, “A great soul serves everyone all the time. A great soul never dies. It brings us together again and again.” The people we lose never truly leave us—they live on in the love they shared and the ways they shaped our lives.

Today, I want to honor that by sharing the lives of those who had a lasting impact on me. Each of them, in their own way, left an imprint on my heart, and their stories continue to shape who I am. I’ll reflect on their lives, the circumstances of their passing, and most importantly, the love and lessons they left behind.

They say the first loss is the greatest. While I don’t remember the final goodbye at the funeral—if I even attended—I do remember visiting my grandma Barbara in the hospital. The details are hazy, but I was recently told that she requested to see me one last time before she left this world for good. Though my memories of her are few and her name was rarely spoken after her passing, I have nothing bad to say. She was my grandma after all. Her presence, however brief in my life, was never one of pain—only quiet remembrance.

Loss has a way of fading certain memories while sharpening others. Though I don’t remember much about my grandma, I know she was a part of my story. And as I grew, more names and faces became part of the list and the lives that shaped me, even in their absence. In 2001, one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Ruth passed away. I believe it was from cancer as mentioned in the yearbook, at the time. Regardless of the cause, her impact on me was profound. Among the many teachers who influenced my life, she was one of the first. I was fortunate enough to have her for both first and second grade, a rare continuity that made her presence even more meaningful. The love and light she carried, her pure joy for teaching—it was on a different level.

I still remember when the substitutes started coming in, a quiet shift in routine that, even at that age, I knew meant something was wrong. Eventually we learned of her passing, and Mrs. Sportsman took her place. She was wonderful in her own right, but Mrs. Ruth was something else entirely. Some people leave a mark that no one else can quite fill.

While Mrs. Ruth was certainly one of them, there was another one that would soon rock me to my core. This one in a different but equally heartbreaking way. Kim was known to me then as my best friend’s mother. I knew she had been sick, but her passing felt sudden and unexpected. The timing made it even more surreal—the morning of her death was supposed to be my best friend’s birthday party. While her father was making calls to cancel, my mother and I were already on our way over unaware. (Side note: Back then, cell phones weren’t common. House phones were still the norm so last-minute news didn’t always travel fast). By the time we arrived, her father met us at the door with the devastating news. It was heart-wrenching.

The memories I have of Kim are simple but warm—she was always kind to me. Just like we all have our favorite spots in our homes, I always seemed to find myself interacting with her in the back living room, right in front of the sliding door. Those little moments, the ones we don’t realize will matter until much later, are the ones that stick. At least, it has for me. While I don’t have any recollection of her funeral, I spent most of it playing with the other kids, including my friend, according to my mother. To put it more into perspective in that point of my life, I was about five-to-six years old. But she had such a huge impact, that I still remember her to this day, some 20 years later.

Now whereas, some losses creep in slowly, giving us time to prepare, there are others that take us by surprise. But no matter the timing, grief always finds a way to leave a mark. Roughly two years later, I experienced another heartbreaking loss—the passing of my Aunt Susie. She had been fighting a tough battle with breast cancer, and my mom often spent time visiting her after work. Although many of my memories with her have faded with time, I remember feeling incredibly close to her back then. That’s why her funeral was to this day, the hardest I’ve ever attended. I can recall that memory as it happened just yesterday—unfortunately.

I believe I had been holding in my tears the entire funeral, trying to keep it together. But once it was over, I made my way out to the car, the only place I felt comfortable and safe to let my guard down. And that’s where I broke down. I cried like there was no tomorrow, my body shaking with the weight of grief I had tried to suppress. I remember feeling embarassed—my eyes were swollen, and I just couldn’t stop. My mom, wanting to help, told my cousins, who tried to comfort me, but I desired to be alone where I could cry freely without any worry.

I thought I had to be strong, to grieve the way everyone else seemed to—quietly, composed. But that was never me. I’ve always been someone who wears their heart on their sleeve. At the time, I didn’t understand that crying, feeling shattered by loss, was not only okay but completely normal. That day, I felt my heart break in two, and for the first time, I truly understood the weight of saying goodbye.

Not long after, I faced the passing of a next door neighbor, Charlie. He was the partner of a childhood friend, and her aunt and uncle lived across the street from us with her husband. So, for years we were all very close. They kept their yards immaculate, always with particular care for the beauty of the backyard. Charlie himself was one of those neighbors who you always hoped to have—kind, friendly, always willing to lend a hand.

My mother has always been fortunate to have great neighbors, but Charlie and his partner truly showed us what it meant to build a real, genuine connection with the people around us. That’s why when Charlie suddenly passed, it was a shock. It caught me off guard. His loss left a hole in our little corner of the world, and the neighborhood has never quite been the same since. It’s quieter now, still full of kind, compassionate neighbors but it's different. We all learned that sometimes, these small connections we take for granted can mean more than we realize.

A couple years after the passing of my neighbor, it was my brother who passed away. His loss left a lasting impact, one that still echoes in my heart today. If you’ve been a long time reader or follower of my blog, you’ve likely heard me share his story multiple times over the years. But this year is different—it marks 15 years since he left this world, and the love of his absence remains. Losing him was something I struggled to process for a long time. I couldn’t fathom how my own brother, whom I shared milestones and moments with, was suddenly gone, never to return?

Eventually, I learned to cope with his passing—as I did with those before him, but I’ll never forget the way he changed me, the way he impacted my life. As many people who knew him will tell you, he was truly something special. One of my favorite memories with him was the day we were named godparents to our brilliant, talented, and beautiful granddaughter, who, coincidentally, is celebrating a monumental birthday this year—turning 16. The day we were named godparents was—still is, one of the specialist days of my life, and there’s no one else I would have wanted to share that honor with. It’s heartbreaking that his life was cut short, and he wasn’t able to watch her grow into the incredible young woman she is today. But I know he’s proudly watching over her from above, always by her side, just as he would have been if he were here.

Losing my brother left a void that could never be filled, but his presence lingers in the moments, in the memories, in the love that refuses to fade. And just as his spirit remains, so too does my uncle’s—a different loss, yet the same unbreakable bond that keeps his memory alive in my mind, heart, body, and soul.

While I don’t quite remember if my Uncle Ronnie had a funeral or remembrance services, I hold many fond memories of him. One of my favorites was when he lived on a ranch and got a miniature pony whose name is Peanut. I spent that day running around, chasing him across the yard, laughing the entire time. It was honestly a bit of a thrill, and I still remember the joy in that moment. Asides from that memory, another memory I hold near and dear to my heart is how he would call me Chelsea, fully aware my name was Kelci—just one of the many inside jokes we shared. He also made sure to get me Sox-themed memorabilia, despite knowing I’m a Cubs fan at heart. But that was the kind of guy he was—fun, full of life, and always ready to make you laugh. Uncle Ronnie had this incredible ability to live in the moment, and he had a knack for bringing out the best in people, making every interaction feel special.

Some people leave their mark with their voice, their laughter, their undeniable presence—like my uncle. Others leave their mark in softer ways through kindness, patience, and unwavering love. My Aunt Barbara was one of them. Growing up, I spent a lot of time in her house with my cousins, and these were some of the happiest moments of my childhood. Her house was always full of laughter, good snacks, and most importantly, warmth was the love she spread. She was a joy to be around—always sweet, always kind, and full of light. Aunt Barbara was one of those people who made everyone feel special, and you couldn’t help but be uplifted by her presence. A truly lovely lady. Oftentimes, it’s the simplest moments that feel like cherished memories.

After all, in every home, love leaves its imprint in many ways. For one Aunt Barbara, it was in the warmth of laughter. For another, it was in the joyful chaos of a home filled with her husband, a man whose presence was just as unforgettable. Though they passed at different times, their love and the memories they left behind remain intertwined, forever part of the lives they touched. One of my favorite memories of this Aunt Barbara and her husband was anytime we would stop by for a short visit, it often turned into a longer one. But what I loved was how we would be greeted with such a warm welcome of roughly 10 white, fluffy, scruffy pups. It was a greeting like no other. The pups surely left a lasting impression on anyone who stopped by. It even inspired me to get a puppy, or two, or three. There was something about that chaotic but loving greeting that made their home feel like the safest, happiest place in the world, and it’s one I’ll forever hold close.

Within this post, “In Loving Memory…” it serves as a reflection of the people who have left an everlasting imprint on my life, proving that while they may no longer be physically present, they are never truly gone. The love, the lessons, and memories they shared keep them alive in our hearts, woven into the fabric of who we are. Though their absence feels farther than we’d ever wish, they remain close in the moments we remember them, the stories we tell, and the ways they’ve shaped us. In this way, they are forever eternalized—not just in memory, but in the very essence of our lives.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from all the lives that have moved on while mine was just beginning, it’s the truth behind that old cliche I often mention—to live life to the fullest. To remain kind, even in a world that is constantly busy, always focused on the next task ahead. By learning to truly live in the moment rather than rushing to the next, we allow ourselves to embrace the love, sincerity, and joy that life has to offer. And in doing so, we create memories that will live on long after we ourselves have gone.

Next week’s post will be available on Monday, March 17th, 2025. It’ll be another post in the Eternity series. I look forward to seeing you all then!

As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

**These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***