The past two months have been gutting.

With so much going on, it’s been hard to sit and write about it - because there never seems to be time, but mostly because it’s still a jumble in my head and heart.

After battling cancer for nearly 4 years, my wonderful and literally heroic father in law declined unexpectedly and rapidly at the end of June, and passed in early July. Chad and I rushed back to San Diego just in time to say goodbye.

Weeks later, we were celebrating a dear Peace Corps friend’s COVID-delayed wedding in Oakland.

I then headed east to see my family, which included joyful, goofy time with my two-year-old nephew and a more poignant visit with my soon-to-be 95 year old grandmother. When I left Mom-mom in the dining room of her assisted care facility in late July, the wistful look on her face spoke volumes. She was always sad to see me go, but this time was different. I felt a tug in my chest that told me I wouldn’t see her again, at least not like this. Weeks later (just a few days before writing this), she veered suddenly and solidly into the realm of dementia.

I flew south to see my other Grandmom, whose recovery since breaking her hip earlier this year is nothing short of miraculous. She still lives on her own, sharp and funny as ever. We watched movies and hid from the Florida heat and cackled with my boisterous uncles.

Chad and I met up back in SoCal in early August to commemorate what would have been his dad’s 80th birthday. It was the first time I landed in San Diego knowing I wouldn’t be seeing Garry, and telling him all about what I’d been up to since I left. It still brings on a teary, sad smile to think about how mystified and curious he would have been about my solitary hikes and kayaking.

Then on to Ohio, for my youngest brother’s incredible wedding weekend, in which we celebrated not only his union with his husband, but the life of his previous partner, who died suddenly just over four years ago.

And now here I am. Back in San Diego for 36 hours before finally heading home after 55 days in 9 cities, 11 different beds and 13 airports - with two more to go before I lay my head in Cape Town..

To call it a roller coaster feels trite. And accurate.

A Circle of Life roller coaster.

I’m exhausted. My cup is full of beautiful family time. I’m sad. I’m happy. I’m defeated. I’m hopeful. I know there is nothing I can do to control any of this. 

All of these things can be true at the same time.

I know this. I feel it. It’s the beauty and the agony of a life lived connected to other people. Feeling fully how vulnerable - and how powerful - that connection makes me.

I am grateful for, and shattered by, all of it.