I have this weird way of remembering someone on the exact day that a particular situation with that person occurred. Moreover, I'm also convinced that those who have gone before me find the most unusual ways of communicating with me. The day I fainted in April was the day my grandfather passed away 6 years ago. When I picked my car up at Villanova that evening, it was 7:30 PM, right when he passed. I thought of how despite the days surrounding his death being unseasonably warm, inside I felt alone, sad, wavering, cold. Sort of how I feel now. I carry around the weight of that memory with the situation of the day and my current career struggles - I'm strangely aware and saddened by all I think and see and experience this day - and I yet I felt calm like he was with me, reminding me to keep the faith. Had I been feeling better, I would have stopped at the cemetery.
In 2000 before I left for Greece, Pop Pop wrote me a letter expressing his excitement for me as I embarked on this journey but moreover, the many journeys I would soon experience as I graduated St. Joe's. Three weeks after he passed away on May 3, 2001, I sat in my Philadelphia apartment and sobbed over the incredible amount of loss I'd suffered in the last few months. I suddenly remembered this letter and found it in my desk drawer. I looked down and saw the date was the same. There I sat in a puddle of tears as my life crumbled around me, knowing he'd wanted more for me than what I was living right then, at yet also knowing he wanted me to find that letter at that moment. Through hiccups of despair, I knew he was telling me to keep the faith and take comfort that he was there with me. Years later, that letter still finds me on May 3. Sometimes in between to remind me of who I am.