The second anniversary of my husband Jody’s passing from COVID-19 will be on April 19th. March 30th would have been his 60th birthday.

I had a strange dream that night. (I don’t usually remember dreams, but this one I did.)

Jody and I were in Provincetown, a small town at the tip of Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Unlike New York City, there is very little human generated light. At night, the skies are pitch black and full of stars …

We were looking out over the ocean. Gazing up at the stars, I wished Jody a Happy Birthday. Then, I turned toward him and he was gone. I looked back up into the sky and all the stars had turned into small yellow hearts. I guess he was telling me he was okay. They are all looking out for us.

I went most of my life without talking to my aunt only because we lived in different cities, but when she moved to Radcliff, Kentucky in 2004, I made sure to be around her on a regular basis. My mother always wanted me to get to know her sister, and this was my opportunity. We talked and laughed — on the phone, at the movies, and countless lunches and dinners with a huge side of laughter. She even met my friends, making them her friends with her unique sense of humor.

I was her “faaaaavorite niece,” but I reminded her that I was her “only niece.”

“That’s not the point!”

Several years ago, I was leaving her house in Radcliff, and a wayward deer appeared to be charging toward us but ran farther away. “Rudolph” was more afraid of us than anything, but we still bumped into each other trying to get back into the house. “I saved your life!” she said proudly.

Her so-called heroic effort made her feel good, that’s all that mattered.

Another time, I was visiting my aunt in the hospital, and she needed a blood transfusion. The nurse walked into her room and announced, “I have your B-positive ready.” I perked up and said, “Hey, that’s my blood type, too. So, it’s in our blood to ‘be positive,’ get it?”

“Get out!” she said, feigning disapproval of my clever pun. Actually, she thought it was funny that I stayed in her room, laughing at my own joke.

During the pandemic, we resorted to talking on the phone. When I did come to visit, it was only to knock on her door and drop off food supplies and face masks, including one designed with Michelle Obama’s images, which she loved. I would leave before she could open the door for social distancing purposes.

Several months later, there was one time I couldn’t reach her on the phone. Knowing that I would be worried, my cousin (her son) called to tell me that my aunt had been rushed to the hospital with Covid-19. Thank God, the hospital’s nurses allowed us to talk to her on Facetime. My aunt always had a sense of humor, even throughout her hospital stays with heart issues. This last time was not any different, and she joked with my cousins and me without missing a beat.

Even though the nurses warned us that she didn’t have long to live, my aunt’s personality was still as strong as ever. Maybe the nurses were wrong.

Unfortunately, they weren’t wrong, and I have missed my aunt every day since January 28, 2021. There are times when I look in the mirror and I’m reminded of her because of my dimples — a family trait.

I guess I’m meant to smile so that I can see them. I like to think that’s another reason why she always tried to make me laugh.

On my wall is a framed chart that my mother, Cynthia Rose Ryan, created when I was just a little girl. It’s full of guidance & special words straight from her heart. Mom was a self-taught numerologist and charted for people who were in need of help, needed structure, someone to confide in, or simply just needed a friend. Loved by all and cherished by her family, she was our matriarch.

Among what she wrote was that I’d be selfless, serve others, and value life’s deepest meanings.

It’s ironic that she also embodied these traits. She had a heart of gold, wild and free, tailored to giving care for others, helping to raise her grandchildren, loving all things Native American, astrological and naturalistic.

Mom was a veteran of the Army. Having served during Vietnam, she was a child of the 60‘s and grew up during one of the one of the most tumultuous and divisive decades in world history, marked by the civil rights movement and the assassinations of President Kennedy and Martin Luther King.

My parents met in high school and were married in 1969, the year my eldest brother was born, when Mom was just 18 and Dad 19. Theirs is a true love story of destiny. Two soul mates, surviving the test of time.

Fostering her little brother, my Uncle, and some of our cousins for a time, my parents loved their family and grandchildren so very much and my mom could have taught a class or written a book on how to be the best housewife of the longest-living generation in history, the Baby Boom Era.

Coping without her strength, support and daily reminders of everything you normally forget, has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love for her endures … remembered in memories of all she blessed us with in her life.

She gave our family her undivided attention and always made our lives rich even when times were the most difficult growing up.

One of my fondest childhood memories was one of their hardest times in life. Our family had to live in tents at a campground for 6 months when my parents’ cabin burnt down due to arson fire when we lived in Sugarloaf, up in the mountains.

I remember the school bus dropping us off in the woods and feeling like we were so cool, hiking, marshmallow roasting, adventures with my siblings every day, and staying up all night playing card games like kings on the corner, hearts and spades, and Yahtzee; that was a favorite.

As an adult, I know it was hard for a young couple with four kids to live that way — isolated and trying to figure out how to start over with nothing — but we were happy, they made it great and it was due to her ingenuity. Her resourcefulness was second to none. Grieving her loss is a daily tug of war.

In 2019, she came to stay with me to help me take care of my busy lifestyle and career, so that my kids never felt without. She not only raised her kids, she helped raise all of her grandchildren. Losing one of their primary caregivers has been so difficult. She was their best friend and made everything in life so much easier for everyone else. Her impact came in so many ways.

The senselessness of her loss drives the pain but the hurt eases every day.

Mom always taught us to have a godly appreciation for time and Mother Nature. She loved to teach about the stars and the planets in our sky and their connection with life on earth in harmony with numerology, which she said was studying the ways that numbers vibrate and how they are interconnected to life.

Mom had a passion for this because she believed in finding the meaning in life and the adventure of your life. She would help predict paths for people to take if they were struggling and provided answers for spiritual guidance. But nothing could have predicted, or prepared us, for the COVID tragedy that would take her from us forever.

Looking back, reflecting upon and trying to honor my mom’s life, it seems fitting that what she provided to others in her charting was like assistive guidance in growth and development. Maybe she knew that watching her teach how to move on, and enduring her own traumas, would help us one day get through the hardest grief of all, losing her. Her loss is so painful to bear but each day we heal just a little more.

To us, Mom was Gaya: Grandmom to all, one of the sisterhood, and comparable to no other.

In telling the story of how I lost my mother, aunt, & grandfather because of Covid-19, I am inviting you into my personal hell. It’s important I share our family’s story though, and that I begin with a positive memory of my mother, so that the horror of her death is not all that’s remembered.

My mother, Shirley Ivey, used to take care of developmentally delayed and physically handicapped individuals; children and adults. One Vietnamese girl who lived with us was in a wheelchair, only saw shadows, and could not communicate verbally. However, on her 21st birthday my mother sent her to her day-program in a stretch limousine, knowing full well that she never understood or saw the trip. It was just the way my mother was — she treated everybody like family. When the limo got to the school, they brought out all the students in her class, put them in the car and gave them rides around the parking lot. What an amazing day and the memory of it evokes the compassion, empathy and kindness that my mother taught me.

Everything began on April 3rd, 2020, my Grandfather’s 95th birthday. At the time, he lived with us in my mother and stepfather’s home. My daughter and I had moved in with them a number of years ago. My grandfather had Alzheimer’s and my mother did everything she could to be sure that her father would never have to go into a nursing home. She took excellent care of him. We all pitched in. For his birthday we had a small, intimate party. Just the household members in attendance and his other daughter, my Aunt Ruthann, who happened to live here in Florida as well. We had a great time. We laughed & ate & celebrated.

The next morning Aunt Ruthann wasn’t feeling well. She was having issues breathing and started having fevers. She was brought to the hospital and tested positive for the Coronavirus. The Health Department was notified, and we were contact traced. My mom and stepfather were sent for testing. My mother tested negative and my stepfather positive. He had to quarantine in their bedroom and my mother slept on the couch or her easy chair, where she slept most nights anyway. Soon, my aunt was put on a ventilator and on April 7th passed away. We were devastated. It had happened so fast. About the third week of April, my Mother started developing symptoms. Headaches, fever, and some shortness of breath. She asked to be retested for the virus. Again, she was negative.

Finally, one evening of that same week, on April 10th, her fever shot up over 104 degrees and the thermometer was still climbing. I decided that was it and I called EMS. My stepfather was still in quarantine in their bedroom. My grandfather was doing fine. We stayed distant from him as much as possible and when we did have to get close to bathe or help him get changed, dressed or eat, we wore masks and gloves. My daughter, who was eight at the time, had no symptoms and we stayed to our portion of the house as much as possible.

My stepfather was in tears when I told him I had to call EMS for Mom; he was so worried and knew that he couldn’t go with her because he was positive. They took Mom to the hospital and this time she tested positive for Covid. Of course, we panicked, having just lost her sister, Aunt Ruthann. It was so incredibly difficult that we could not go see her at the hospital. The next morning, I awoke feeling lousy, like I had the flu. My grandfather was also not feeling well so we decided that we’d go to the hospital together. They only kept me long enough to control my temperature and do tests, then sent me right home. I did try to see my mother, but they wouldn’t allow it. So, I had to leave the hospital without seeing my Mom.

So now, my aunt had passed, and now my stepfather, my mother and myself tested positive for the virus. My grandfather tested negative, which surprised all of us because he was diagnosed many years ago with Interstitial Lung Disease.