The absence most dearly felt this Christmas was that of my grandmother, Marcella Scanlon, Nana, who passed away in the spring. She faced illness and death with courage, grace, and peace, so I have faith that she is exactly where she is supposed to be, but I miss her nonetheless, every day. Her spirit was more vibrant than almost any other I've known and is utterly irreplaceable. I see more of her in me every day, and I find her fingerprints all over my life, in the gifts she's given me and the things she taught me and the memories that I hold in my heart.
I was home for less than two days for her funeral in April, but I did get the chance to walk through her house one last time and appreciate all of her wonderful eccentricities. It seems as if all of the overwhelming love and passion and beauty within her had a habit of spilling out onto whatever (or whomever) was around her, and leaving its imprint there:
What a huge absence to fill.
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