Growing up, our house was always full of laughter, scattered toys, and noisy kids running through the yard. It was a home overflowing with love, where grandmothers lived nearby and warm pans of buttermilk biscuits seemed to appear whenever you walked through the door.
I became an aunt at the ripe old age of five, so I grew up alongside my siblings’ children rather than simply watching them grow up. They were my playmates, my partners in mischief, and some of my very first best friends.
By the time I was seven years old, I already had four nephews. Then, on September 25, my niece Brandy was born. I was thrilled to finally have another girl in the family.
Brandy became my constant companion. We spent hours playing Barbies and pretending to be mothers caring for our baby dolls. Of course, we still joined the boys outside, making mud pies, carving roads through the dirt for our Hot Wheels cars, and racing them through imaginary towns. We built forts along the edge of the woods, using pine straw to create walls and secret hideaways where our childhood adventures came to life.
When I was fourteen and Brandy was seven, another little girl joined the family—my youngest niece, whom we had waited on forever. Brandy was excited to no longer be the only girl cousin in the group.
Two years later, at sixteen, I welcomed my own daughter into the world. Brandy was nine years old and instantly fell in love with her baby cousin. From the very beginning, she adored my little girl, and watching their bond grow became one of life’s sweetest gifts.
Brandy became a mother at sixteen, welcoming my first great-niece into the world. I was overjoyed. My two children now had a little playmate to grow up alongside, just as Brandy and I had grown up together.
In many ways, it felt like life had come full circle. From the time we were little girls playing with Barbies and cradling baby dolls in our arms, Brandy and I had shared the same dream. We both longed to be mothers someday. We spent countless hours pretending to care for our babies, imagining the families we would have one day.
Now, those childhood dreams were becoming reality. Watching Brandy hold her daughter for the first time, I could still see the little girl who had spent so many afternoons playing house with me. The years between seemed to disappear, replaced by the familiar bond we had always shared and the joy of watching a new generation begin.
We had both lived through something neither of us ever spoke about. Maybe that’s why motherhood came so early for each of us—two young girls reaching for something to hold onto, something that belonged to us, something to love unconditionally.
Our connection was always deep. More like sisters than aunt and niece, we could read each other’s moods without a word being spoken. Through the years, no matter where life took us, that bond remained.
Family has always been the center of my world. If someone needed help, I did my best to give it. And when I needed help, I knew my family would be there. We celebrated together, grieved together, and carried one another through life’s hardest moments.
I needed them more than ever as my marriage was beginning to crumble. What I didn’t know was that they would soon need me, too.
My phone rang in the early morning hours of July 30, 2018.
I was just getting up and preparing for the first day of Cheer Camp. I had been a cheer coach for several years, but this season felt especially exciting. My great-niece was joining my squad as a freshman, and I couldn’t wait to share that experience with her.
The shrill ring of the phone broke the quiet of the morning.
As soon as I answered, my world stopped.
Everything changed in that moment.
On the other end of the call was my sister.
She was already on her way to my house to pick up my great-niece, who was still sound asleep down the hall. She needed to be with her father, her brothers and sisters, her grandparents. News like this belonged with family. It needed to be shared by the people who loved her most.
I hung up the phone and stood frozen.
Just moments before, I had been thinking about Cheer Camp and all the excitement that came with the first day.
Now, none of that mattered.
I had to somehow hold myself together.
Down the hall slept a little girl whose world was about to change forever. In a matter of minutes, she would learn that her mother was gone.
I tried not to let my grief show. I tried not to let the sobs escape. I tried not to fall apart.
But my heart was already shattered.
And now it was imploding beneath the weight of losing Brandy.
My beautiful niece.
The little girl who had played Barbies with me. The girl who built forts in the woods and raced Hot Wheels through the dirt. The young mother who had given me my first great-niece.
Gone.
The word didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. My mind refused to accept what my ears had heard.
How could someone who had been woven into the fabric of my entire life simply no longer be here?
As I waited for my sister to arrive, I looked down the hallway toward the room where her daughter slept peacefully, untouched for a few more precious moments by the heartbreak that was rushing toward all of us.
I had to force my feet to move.
I had to pull myself together because my family needed me.
I needed to be there for Brandy’s children, her husband, her parents, her siblings, her grandparents, and her cousins.
Brandy’s four beautiful children had lost their mother.
Her husband had lost his wife.
My brother and sister-in-law had lost their only daughter.
My parents had lost their first granddaughter.
Her brothers had lost their sister.
My family had lost a beautiful soul.
And I had lost my first best friend.
My hand gripped the bedroom door as my heart dreaded what was coming next. I knew that the moment I opened that door, another world would shatter.
I eased into the room to wake her.
The shock had blurred so much of that morning. I can’t remember whether I said good morning or called her name. I only remember that she was already dressed and ready for Cheer Camp.
For one brief moment, she was just a teenager excited about the day ahead.
Then I told her that my sister was on her way to pick her up and take her to Nanny’s house.
She looked at me immediately.
“Why? What happened?”
I have never been able to hide my feelings. I’ve always been an open book.
She saw the answer before I could speak it.
The heartbreak was written all over my face.
She crumbled.
“No… not my Mom.”
I wrapped my arms around her and held on.
What could I possibly say?
There were no words big enough for a loss like this.
I couldn’t tell her it would be okay because it wasn’t okay.
I couldn’t tell her I understood because I didn’t.
I could not imagine the pain of losing your mother.
So I simply held her while her world fell apart.
My sister arrived a short time later to take her.
I watched them leave, and as the door closed behind them, the strength I had been clinging to disappeared.
I broke.
The tears came in waves. I sobbed until I could barely breathe, overwhelmed by shock and grief. Nothing felt real. My mind struggled to make sense of what had happened.
Brandy was gone.
The little girl who had grown up beside me.
My niece.
My friend.
My family.
Gone.
A few moments later, my son came into the room. He had heard the commotion and could see that something was terribly wrong.
“What happened?” he asked.
I looked at him, numb and hollow.
“Brandy died.”
The words felt foreign as they left my mouth.
Even saying them aloud didn’t make them feel true.
I watched the realization wash over his face, and in that moment, the grief that had shattered our family began spreading from one heart to another.
2018 was not a kind year to our family.
My mother was battling cancer. We had already said goodbye to my mother’s brother, my sweet Uncle Milton. Then came the devastating loss of Brandy. At the same time, my marriage was slowly crumbling around me, leaving its own trail of wreckage.
Everywhere I turned, there seemed to be another loss waiting.
It was a season of grief unlike anything I had ever known.
The truth is, I had never fully recovered from the losses that came before. The death of Paul had left wounds that still ached years later. Other heartbreaks had been tucked away, buried beneath responsibilities, work, and the demands of everyday life. I had learned how to keep moving, but I had never truly learned how to heal.
With each new loss, the weight became heavier.
Grief was no longer something that visited occasionally. It had become a constant companion, sitting beside me through every season of my life.
By the end of 2018, I felt as though I was carrying an entire cemetery in my heart.
Ebbs & Flows 