“Healing doesn't mean forgetting the people we've lost. Sometimes it means learning how to carry their memories while continuing to live our own lives.”

Well, we're home! And what a weekend it was. Mountains, horseshoes, friends, a whole lot of laughter and, as I somewhat expected, more than a few tears. Our annual Thanksgiving trip to the lake is officially in the books for another year, and while I'm sitting here looking at the rather ridiculous to-do list waiting for me, I can't help but smile. It was one of those weekends that somehow manages to leave you exhausted and refreshed at the same time. You know the kind. You're tired from all the travelling, your body reminds you that throwing horseshoes for hours isn't quite the same as sitting at your desk, and yet there's something inside you that feels a little lighter than it did when you left.

We spent a LOT of time on the road this trip. Over twenty-four hours, actually, which might sound like absolute torture to some people, but I genuinely enjoy our road trips. There's something about driving through the mountains, watching the scenery change and having all that time away from the usual distractions that I love. And apparently, I've also turned our road trips into my own little travelling classroom. LOL. I've always been a huge fan of paper books. Give me a book I can hold, pages I can highlight and somewhere to scribble notes, and I'm a happy camper. But I have to admit, Audible has become one of my absolute favourite tools lately.

Instead of having my music blasting while we're driving, I've been listening to audiobooks and learning as we go. And with more than twenty-four hours of road time, you can bet your ass I got some learning in this weekend. Now, don't get me wrong, there were definitely moments when I wished I could grab a pen, highlight a paragraph or write something in the margins. I've replayed chapters more than once because something caught my attention and I wanted to hear it again. I've also gotten into the habit of leaving myself little voice notes so I can go back and make proper notes later, because as much as I love learning, trying to write something down while driving 100 km/h down the highway is probably not my brightest idea. LOL.

And honestly, I think that time to learn, listen and reflect was part of what made this weekend so meaningful. I've had a lot going on lately, both in business and in life, and sometimes it's hard to hear your own thoughts when you're constantly moving from one thing to the next. Being on the road gave me a chance to explore things I've been curious about, revisit ideas that made me think and just let my brain wander a little. I came home with some new perspectives, a few things I want to dig into further and some clarity about where I'm heading next. Not necessarily because I figured everything out, because let's be serious, when the hell does that happen? LOL. But because I gave myself the space to think about things without immediately needing to do something about them.

Of course, the weekend wasn't all mountain views, learning and laughter. In my last blog, I mentioned that I was expecting this trip to bring up some emotions, especially with Bob Sr. no longer with us. And sure enough, before we'd even made it to the lake, both hubby and I were feeling it. As soon as we turned onto that familiar gravel road, we both got a little choked up. There's something about returning to a place that holds so much family history, especially when someone who was part of that history is no longer here. And when we drove past the cabin his dad built with his own two hands, well, let's just say there were more than a few tears shed.

But there's another piece of this story I didn't share in my last blog, and it's something that makes this particular weekend even more emotional for me. A couple of years ago, we were at that very same lake, on that very same Thanksgiving weekend, when I received the phone call that my own father had passed away. So while the lake holds generations of memories for hubby and his family, it also holds one of the hardest memories of my own life. It's strange how one place can hold so much happiness and heartbreak at the same time. The same roads, the same familiar surroundings, the same weekend on the calendar, yet so many different emotions tied to being there.

And this year, we weren't the only ones carrying some extra heartache. A family friend was there with her young children, experiencing the weekend for the first time without her husband, who passed away not long ago. At one point, she described it as a weekend of trauma bonding together, and I understood what she meant. There were several of us navigating grief in different ways, remembering different people and experiencing those moments when a familiar place or conversation suddenly brings someone back to the front of your mind. Grief doesn't exactly check the calendar to see whether it's a convenient time to show up, does it?

But for me, this weekend felt like something a little different. It felt like remembering. And healing.

I don't mean that I somehow got through the weekend without being sad, because that certainly wasn't the case. There were tears, quiet moments and memories that hit harder than I expected. There were hugs, conversations and moments when I needed a second to collect myself. But somewhere along the way, I made a conscious decision that I wasn't going to let the sadness take away from everything beautiful that was happening around me. I could remember the people we'd lost and still laugh with the people sitting beside me. I could feel that ache in my chest when a memory surfaced and still enjoy the sunshine, the horseshoes and the familiar faces we'd been looking forward to seeing all year.

And maybe that sounds like such a simple thing, but I don't think it always has been for me. There have been times in my life when I've tucked painful memories away because I didn't want to deal with everything that came along with them. Put the name in a box, close the lid and carry on. Not because the person didn't matter, but because sometimes remembering felt like opening a door I wasn't sure I could close again. And when you've got a million other things happening in your life, it's easy to convince yourself that you'll deal with those emotions another day.

Well, I'm not putting those names back in a box anymore.

I can remember my dad. I can remember Bob Sr. I can think about the people who are no longer physically here and allow myself to feel whatever comes with those memories. Sometimes that's sadness. Sometimes it's gratitude. Sometimes it's a story that makes me laugh so hard I can barely get the words out. And sometimes it's simply standing near the water, quietly saluting the people who are missing from our lives and taking a moment to acknowledge that they were here, they mattered and they're still loved.

There was something incredibly peaceful about that for me this weekend. Standing near the water, surrounded by a place that holds so much history, I didn't feel like I needed to push the memories away or turn them into something bigger than they were. I could just remember. I could have my moment, wipe my tears and go back to enjoying the people around me. Because at the end of the day, I truly believe the people we've lost would want us to keep living. They'd want us to laugh, make new memories, enjoy our families and continue doing the things that make life worth living. And I can't imagine a better way to honour them than to do exactly that.

I don't know what's changed in me lately. Maybe it's simply the stage of life I'm in. Maybe it's all the personal work I've been doing, the support and guidance I've surrounded myself with or the things I've been learning. Maybe it's my guides helping me see things from a different perspective. Or maybe it's a little bit of everything coming together at the right time. I'm not going to pretend I have some magical answer, because I don't. What I do know is that I'm approaching some things differently than I would have a few years ago, and I'm grateful for that.

And the beautiful thing is that there was still SO much joy in this weekend. We got to spend time with friends, throw horseshoes, hear stories and laugh about things that probably wouldn't make a damn bit of sense to anyone who wasn't there. We got to return to a place that's become one of our favourite yearly traditions, reconnect with people we don't get to see nearly enough and add another year's worth of memories to all the ones already there. The sadness didn't cancel out the happiness, and the happiness didn't mean we'd forgotten anyone. They existed together, sometimes within minutes of each other, and for once I didn't feel the need to make one emotion win over the other.

I think that's something I'm going to carry with me long after the bags are unpacked and the laundry is finished. Life doesn't stop being beautiful because we've experienced loss. And loving the people who are still here doesn't mean we love the people we've lost any less. There's room for all of it. The tears, the laughter, the memories, the new experiences and even those moments when you find yourself smiling with tears still sitting in your eyes.

So here I am, back at my desk, coffee nearby, looking at a to-do list that apparently spent the long weekend reproducing while I was gone. LOL. There's business stuff waiting, projects to move forward, people to connect with and a whole lot of things I'm excited to get working on. But I'm coming back with more than just a few new things I learned from my audiobooks. I'm coming back with a deeper appreciation for the people in my life, the friendships we've built and the opportunities we still have to make memories together.

And I'm excited for what's ahead. Really fucking excited, actually. I've got dreams I'm working toward, a calling that keeps pulling me forward and some pretty big ideas about what I want the next chapter of my life to look like. Will everyone understand them? Probably not. I'm sure there are going to be people who look at me like I've got two heads when I start talking about some of the things I'm planning. LOL. But that's okay. I've spent enough of my life worrying about what other people might think, and the older I get, the more I realize how precious our time here really is.

Because that's another thing a weekend like this reminds me of. I'm alive. I'm here. I still have people to love, places to go, things to learn and dreams to chase. There are people I wish I could call and tell about my weekend, and there always will be. But there are also people I CAN call, people I can hug, people I can laugh with and people who are walking beside me as I figure out whatever the hell comes next. I don't want to get so caught up in missing what was that I forget to appreciate what still is.

And I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life sitting around wondering what might have happened if I'd actually followed the dreams that keep showing up in my heart. I've got work to do, not just the kind sitting on my desk, but the kind that feels connected to why I'm here in the first place. The kind that makes me excited to get up in the morning, even when the day ahead looks completely ridiculous. The kind that reminds me that building the life I want isn't just about reaching some destination. It's about being present enough to enjoy the people, experiences and little moments along the way.

So yes, I'm sitting here smiling. Maybe with a tear or two still sneaking in when I think about the weekend, but it's that kind of smile you feel deep down. The one that comes from being grateful for what you've experienced, grateful for what you still have and genuinely excited about what comes next.

Now it's back to work, back to the massive to-do list and back to embracing the love and friendship that surrounds me. Both from the people walking beside me in this life and, in my own way, from those I believe are still cheering us on from the next.

And if this weekend reminded me of anything, it's that I don't have to leave the people I've lost behind in order to keep moving forward. I can carry their memories with me, raise a glass when their names are spoken, smile at the stories and keep making new ones.

Because I'm still here. And I've got a whole lot of living left to do.