I search for you every spring when the bloom of a flower first appears. It reminds me of when I was 8 years old, we were outside watering purple flowers with a pot that had my handprints painted on the side I made for my mom. It sat on the front porch of my childhood house at the top of the stairs. You told me water was just as important as sunshine to allow things to grow. I’ve carried that memory with me my whole life.

I’m now 28, and this spring when the rain came down on my life and the sunshine was sporadic, I remembered. The memory of you bloomed in my mind when the flowers took longer to pop through the dirt. I didn’t know if this season would reap what I planted. I thought I had been forgotten.

I pleaded with God, asked Him “will you please let the light shine through?” Yet the light drizzle felt like a downpour. I then remembered how you taught me to dance in the rain. You’d stand at the front door and watch me as I sang the song with my tongue out from Barney with my neighborhood friends. You stood there and just smiled at us, said we were okay if we were wearing shoes even though grandpa didn’t approve.

I remember a time when you came to visit us when I was 23 I came home from work, exhausted from the day. I was contemplating if I should book a plane ticket to Australia. You told me a story about how when you were young you wanted to go to California, no one would go with you so you told your anxious mom you were going alone. You reminded me that if you wait for someone to go with you, you might miss out on something miraculous. My favorite part of the story is when you would tell me what you told your mom “when it’s my time, to go I’ll be there” It’s a phrase you told us all the time, and it’s one I’ve adopted to tell my mom sometimes too.

When I was 24 I visited you for the last time in the hospital. Your skin was changing colors and I knew the inevitable was about to happen. Nothing could ever prepare me for that cold December day when you took your last breath as a 92 year old who lived such a long, beautiful full life. As devastated as I was that you were no longer going to be here to share your advice, I had an inner peace knowing it was your time to go and you were there.

When I was 25 and I was having moments of doubt to take the leap into what’s next, I knew you were with me when I took the biggest leap and found my wings on the way down. I fought my fear of another rejection and landed my dream job as a flight attendant. It was a dream we both shared and I feel like it connected us in a unique way. Although you weren’t physically there to see me finally achieve our dream, I know you are with me every step of the way.

The last few years of my life had its fair share of turbulence, I keep your memory alive in every flight I take and in every adventure I don’t wait for someone else to come along. I’m reminded that one day I’ll be 92 and I never know when I will take my last breath, but I hope that when I do I can also say I lived a long, beautiful full life too.