Patricia Hunter Curry was 5-feet tall. Born first out of three other siblings, she was a pistol. She was a teacher and later on in her life, a librarian. She lived in Arizona, Japan, Germany, and California. She traveled the world unmarried and by herself, at a time when women were expected to marry and stay at home.

My grandmother could light up a room better than anyone I know. The minute she walked in, it was like she had the power to change the very air. She was one of the bravest women I have ever had the privilege to meet, let alone be related to. Spending my days with a woman who was as courageous, intelligent, and eloquent as she, was the pleasure of my life. She called me her wonderful granddaughter. I called her Nanny. I loved her dearly and she certainly loved me.

She passed away five days before my 17th birthday. I lost one of my very best friends on that rainy day in February.

It was during this time in my life that I learned how to dance and mourn at the same time. Before, I knew that for everything under heaven there is a season. What I had yet to learn was sometimes these seasons come at once.

I thought grief was its own separate season one moved through alone. I did not understand that the root of our grief is often the love we have for what is lost. I tried keeping my period of mourning simple and short. But my relationship with my grandmother was dynamic and colorful. How could I process losing her in simple shades of gray?

Over time I came to know that the mourning process is as dynamic and unique as the individual relationship one is mourning for. It is different for every person. It is not simple. It is not to be done alone. It does not happen quickly, but it does happen.

I realized over time that I could mourn for my grandmother and feel immense joy at my high school graduation. I could long for her advice and wisdom before I left for college, and at the very same time be filled to the brim with excitement for my new adventures.

I will always have a keen awareness of her absence no matter the season I am in. But I will not allow her absence to steal my joy. There is a very marked difference between those two things. I will mourn for her, but I will also dance when my heart feels like dancing without any traces of guilt for having done so.

I will never forget the lady Patricia Hunter Curry was, her vibrancy and her love for life. I will talk of her often with those who had the immense privilege of standing in her sun when it was still shining. I will not hesitate as I once did to admit that her presence is still acutely missed and tears are still being shed. I will also never forget the last lesson she ever taught me: Sometimes life will require you to mourn and dance at the same exact time. At those times, I should dance with everything I have in me, because it is then I need to remember the joy of dancing through life the most.