Hey beautiful souls! We're back here again, talking about love that transcends time and the people who pour into us so deeply that losing them feels like losing pieces of ourselves...

Y'all, I thought July 4th was hard. Then July 7th rolled around.

Three days after I'm missing Aunt Rose's fireworks, I'm over here reflecting on Aunt Viv's birthday. And honey, if you think the universe has a sense of humor about timing, you'd be wrong. This feels more like the universe is testing just how much my heart can hold without completely shattering.

Aunt Viv left us at the end of April, and I'm still walking around like someone stole my creative compass. Because that's exactly what happened. She wasn't just my Aunt: she was my first reader, my hype woman, my "don't you dare second-guess yourself" voice, and the keeper of the most ridiculous corny jokes known to humanity.

Let me tell you about the woman who helped birth my gift of writing and why her silence feels louder than anything I've ever heard.

When I Finally Found the Words 

When Aunt Viv passed, I found myself needing to put my feelings into words, and y'all, they just poured out of me:

Aunt Viv was that Auntie...you know the one. The one who didn't just cheer, she orchestrated the whole d@mn parade for you. My ideas, my doubts, my random 3 a.m. revelations? She was my first call, my hype woman, my 'don't you dare second-guess yourself' voice. And that laugh? That laugh could turn a bad day around in seconds."

That's who Aunt Viv was. She didn't just support your dreams -- she became your personal cheerleading squad, marching band, and confetti cannon all rolled into one person.

When I finished writing those words, I realized I wasn't just processing my grief. I was trying to make sense of losing someone who had been woven into the very fabric of my creative identity.

Aunt Viv was the first person to read everything I wrote. EVERYTHING. The good stuff, the terrible first drafts, the random thoughts I'd scribble down at 2 AM: she wanted to see it all.

And she didn't just read it. She gave me honest feedback. Not the "oh honey, this is nice" kind of feedback that makes you feel good but doesn't help you grow. The real kind. The "this part made me cry, but this part confused me, and you need to explain this better" kind of feedback.

She treated my writing like it mattered before I even believed it mattered. She saw the gift in me before I knew I had one to give.

My Creative Vessel

You know how some people ask to read your work just to be polite? Aunt Viv asked because she genuinely wanted to know what was happening in my imagination. She was curious about my thoughts, invested in my stories, excited about where my creativity would take me next.

That kind of interest? That kind of genuine enthusiasm for someone else's dreams? That's rare, y'all. That's precious. That's irreplaceable.

The Corny Joke Connection

But it wasn't all serious literary discussions with Aunt Viv. Oh no. This woman LOVED a corny joke. I'm talking about the kind of jokes that make you groan and laugh at the same time. The kind that are so bad they're good.

We'd call each other up just to share the latest terrible pun or corny joke we'd heard. It was our thing - this silly, sweet way of staying connected and making each other smile.

Looking back, I realize those corny jokes were love letters. They were her way of saying "I'm thinking about you" and my way of saying "I'm thinking about you too." They were the thread that kept us connected between the bigger conversations about life and dreams and creativity.

Now when I hear a particularly terrible joke, my first instinct is still to call Aunt Viv. And then I remember she's not there to answer. That's a special kind of heartbreak...when muscle memory meets reality and reality wins.

The Sister Stories: My Mom and Aunt Viv

One of my favorite things about Aunt Viv was how she talked about my Mama. The admiration in her voice, the love, the way she could tell the same stories a hundred times and still crack up laughing.

She'd tell me how my Mom, this gorgeous model who never had a hair out of place, makeup always flawless, nails perfect, everything absolutely pristine:  was in charge of getting little Viv ready for school every morning. My Mama would comb her hair, make sure she looked presentable, send her off into the world looking like she had some sense.

But Aunt Viv? Oh, Aunt Viv was SCRAPPY. 😂

She said if someone said something she didn't like, she would leap at them and they'd be rolling around in the dirt fighting. Meanwhile, my perfectly put-together Mama would be watching from the sidelines in absolute HORROR, and then she'd snatch Aunt Viv up and say, "Have you lost your mind?!?! You fight with your mouth, not your body!"

Because my Mama? 🐝 She would tell you OFF and never lift a finger. She was all about that verbal warfare 💣 precise, devastating, effective. No dirt on the dress, no messed up hair, just pure linguistic destruction. 😂

I loved these stories SO much. I heard them countless times, could probably finish their sentences, but I never did. I wanted to hear them tell it. I wanted to see their faces light up with the memory. I wanted to witness that sister love in action.

Somehow, I knew. I knew that one day, these stories would be all I had left. So I listened. I absorbed. I let them tell me about their childhood adventures over and over again because I understood that these weren't just stories: they were treasures.

The Love That Shaped My Voice

Here's what Aunt Viv gave me that I didn't fully understand until she was gone: she gave me permission to believe in my own voice.

Every time she asked to read something I'd written, she was saying "your thoughts matter." Every time she gave me feedback, she was saying "your words have power." Every time she encouraged me to keep writing, she was saying "the world needs what you have to offer."

She helped birth my gift of writing by creating a safe space for it to grow. She was my first audience, my first critic, my first cheerleader. She saw potential in me before I saw it in myself.

That kind of early support?

That's foundational. That's life-changing. That's the difference between someone who writes in secret and someone who writes with confidence.

When Grief Becomes Love With Nowhere to Go

The truth hit me: "grief is just love with nowhere to go." And honey, I've got so much love for Aunt Viv that I don't know what to do with.

I love her laugh that could turn around any bad day. I love her genuine interest in my creative projects. I love her terrible jokes that never failed to make me smile. I love how she made me feel seen and heard and valued.

I love how she talked about my Mama with such admiration. I love how she owned her scrappy nature🥊while respecting my Mama's refined approach to conflict. I love how she could tell the same stories with the same enthusiasm every single time.

All of that love is still here, still real, still powerful. It just doesn't have a phone number to call anymore.

The Creative Legacy She Left

Every time I sit down to write now, I think about Aunt Viv. I think about how she'd want to read whatever I'm working on. I think about the feedback she'd give, the encouragement she'd offer, the way she'd celebrate every small victory in my creative journey.

She's not here to read my work anymore, but her influence is in every word I write. Her belief in me is woven into my confidence. Her enthusiasm for my creativity is part of what pushes me to keep going when writing feels hard.

When I help other people with their creative projects, when I encourage someone to trust their voice, when I give honest feedback that helps someone grow: that's Aunt Viv working through me.

She taught me that supporting someone's creativity is an act of love. She showed me that being genuinely interested in someone's dreams is a gift you give them. She proved that the right encouragement at the right time can change the trajectory of someone's entire creative life.

Missing Her on Her Birthday

So here I am on July 7th, missing Aunt Viv's birthday just three days after missing Aunt Rose's. Missing the woman who would call me just to share some absolutely terrible joke she'd found. Missing my first reader, my creative cheerleader, my "don't you dare second-guess yourself" voice.

But I'm also celebrating everything she poured into me. Every story she listened to. Every joke she shared. Every moment she made me feel like my creativity mattered.

I'm celebrating the way she loved my mama despite their completely different approaches to conflict resolution.😂 I'm celebrating the sister bond that gave me some of the best stories I've ever heard. I'm celebrating the way she could find joy in the smallest, corniest things.

To My Creative Champions

If you have an Aunt Viv in your life... someone who believes in your creative gifts, who asks to see your work, who celebrates your artistic journey, please tell them today how much that means to you.

Creative support is rare. Finding someone who genuinely cares about your artistic growth, who takes time to engage with your work, who cheers for your creative victories: that's special. That's precious. That's not to be taken for granted.

And if you've lost your creative champion, know that their belief in you doesn't die with them. The confidence they gave you, the encouragement they offered, the way they made you feel seen and heard: that becomes part of your creative DNA.

The Stories We Tell

One thing Aunt Viv and Aunt Rose both taught me is the power of story. They told their childhood stories with such joy, such detail, such love. They understood that stories aren't just entertainment: they're how we pass down love, how we preserve memory, how we keep people alive in our hearts.

Now it's my turn to be the storyteller. It's my turn to share the stories about who they were, how they loved, what they gave to the world. It's my turn to make sure their laughter echoes, their wisdom continues, their love keeps working.

Thank You, Aunt Viv

So to my Aunt Viv: thank you. Thank you for reading every story, every random thought, every creative experiment I ever shared with you. Thank you for treating my writing like it mattered before I believed it did.

Thank you for the corny jokes that made ordinary days brighter. Thank you for the honest feedback that helped me grow. Thank you for the enthusiasm that made me believe in my own voice.

Thank you for loving my mama so deeply and for sharing those sister stories that gave me a window into who she was before she was my mom. Thank you for showing me what it looks like to support someone's dreams with your whole heart.

Thank you for helping birth my gift of writing by creating a safe space for it to grow. Thank you for being my first reader, my biggest cheerleader, my creative vessel.

Most of all, thank you for loving me. Just... thank you for loving me.

Keeping On Keeping On

I told you this every time we spoke, but I'm saying it again: Thank you for loving me. ❤️

And just like I promised, I'm going to keep on keeping on. I'm going to keep writing, keep creating, keep sharing my voice with the world. Because you taught me that my words matter, that my creativity has value, that my stories deserve to be told.

I'm going to keep telling terrible jokes in your honor. I'm going to keep encouraging other people's creative dreams the way you encouraged mine. I'm going to keep listening to the stories people want to tell, the way you listened to mine.

Every time I sit down to write, I'm going to imagine you reading over my shoulder, ready to give me that honest feedback and unwavering support. Every time I finish something I'm proud of, I'm going to celebrate knowing that somewhere, you're smiling that beautiful smile and laughing in just the way you could.

Happy birthday, Aunt Viv. Thank you for everything. The gift you gave me, the gift of believing in my own voice,  that's forever. That's eternal. That's still working, still growing, still creating beauty in the world.

Keep reading over my shoulder, okay? I've got SO many more stories to tell.

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Tell me, beautiful souls: Who is your creative champion? Who believes in your artistic gifts and encourages you to keep creating? If you've lost someone who supported your creativity, how do you honor their memory in your work? Share your stories about the people who helped birth your gifts: let's celebrate the champions who make our creative journeys possible.

And if you're missing someone whose birthday falls too close to another loss, know that you're not alone in feeling like the calendar is conspiring against your heart. Some months just hit us differently. Some dates carry more weight than they should. That's okay. Feel it all.

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P.S.  Every terrible joke I hear, every story I write, every creative project I tackle: that's Aunt Viv still working her magic. The people who believe in us don't just impact our present; they shape our entire creative future. Keep creating, beautiful souls. Someone believed in your voice for a reason. 💚

Because You Know Aunt Viv Wouldn’t Let Me End This Without a Laugh

If you knew Aunt Viv, then you know she believed in the power of laughter just as much as the power of words. Even in the heaviest moments, she had a way of cracking a joke that reminded you joy still lived here.

And this joke? This was one of her absolute favorites. She told it like a sermon, acted it out like a stage play, and laughed every single time like it was her first time hearing it.

So in true Aunt Viv fashion, here’s a little heavenly humor:

A Heavenly Spelling Test (One of My Aunt Viv's Favorite Jokes...)

Imagine it…
You’ve lived your life. You’ve laughed, you’ve loved, you’ve cried your tears, and now... you’ve passed on.

And this woman… she opens her eyes, and there it is.
✨ Light. Beauty. Peace. Angels flying around like the Hallelujah choir’s got a day off and they’re just vibing. ✨

And she says…
“Oh my God… is this Heaven?”

And standing right there, calm, collected, majestic as ever…
St. Peter nods and says,
“Yes. This is it. But before you come in… you have to do one more thing.”

And listen, this woman is READY. She straightens up like, “What do you need? A testimony? A tithe?”

And he says,
“You just have to spell… a word.”

She blinks.
“A word?”
He nods.
“Any word you like.”

And without hesitation, she smiles and says,
“Love. L-O-V-E.”
Because of course she did. Because she lived it.

So St. Peter claps, gives her that big ol’ heavenly welcome, and then says,
“Would you mind watching the gates while I run to the restroom?”

And now she’s sitting there in the chair of divine authority. Holding it down. Watching souls float by like dandelions in the wind.

Then… she sees someone walking up.
And her heart skips a beat.

It’s her husband.

And she says,
“YOU? What are you doing here?”

He shrugs and says,
“I was so devastated after your funeral… I got into an accident. Next thing I knew, I was here. Did I… did I make it to Heaven?”

And she tilts her head, and says,
“Well, not quite yet. There’s just one more thing you have to do. You must spell a word first."

"What word?" he asked.

He straightens up. He’s ready.
“What is it?”

She pauses. Looks him dead in the spirit.
And with all the love, grace, and a dash of well-earned payback, she says:
“Czechoslovakia.”

Aunt Viv would tell this joke, toss her head back and would laugh until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. 😂

Still Laughing, Still Writing, Still Loving

That was Aunt Viv: laughter, wisdom, and a touch of petty perfection, all rolled into one unforgettable soul.

She reminded me that humor could heal, that stories could save, and that even after someone is gone, their love doesn’t leave the room. It lingers. It echoes in our laughter, in our art, in the way we show up for ourselves and others.

So I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep creating. I’ll keep laughing loud at the corny jokes and holding space for the sacred stories, because that’s what she gave me. That’s how she loved me.

And if you're lucky enough to have an Aunt Viv in your life, or if you were that for someone else, don’t wait to say thank you. Don’t wait to share the story. We are the living proof that their love worked.

Here's to the ones who shaped our voices and lit up our pages. Here's to Aunt Viv! 💚