Sevilla is no less beautiful than promised. In fact, its streets and cathedrals, its ornate architecture twisting through alleyways and wrapped around parks, comes to life with an awing presence far more thrilling than what the few photos I saw on the internet evoked. At any rate, I looked at very few, and was coming mostly on trust – Robin did the research. He ruled out Barcelona (because of Catalan) and I ruled out Madrid (too big), and then it became a game of where the cheapest Spanish lessons were to afford him a visa, while offering us a quintessential Spanish experience. Sevilla, warm southern Spain with Moorish influence on these stunning edificios, suggested a place we both would enjoy. A few days in and it has wooed me well.

Despite the winding, gothic beauty of the narrow stony streets, and the relative warmth, this trip has not started out easy. The last week has been fraught with the rapid decline in health of my Morfar (mother’s father, granddad), and on the night I arrived in Spain, my dear Morfar passed away. My Mom sat by his side, having flown over from Canada just in time, and held his hand as he laboured to draw his last breath. The rest of the Canadian family could not get there, and we are left to mourn his passing from afar. It happened so fast. He learned he had lung cancer a few weeks ago, but no one guessed he would be gone this quickly. Perhaps saddest of all is that he just turned 80, and but half a year further we were to celebrate his birthday all together in Denmark. Almost my entire close family was to be there – the first time in over 20 years for my Dad, and half as long for others. But Morfar could not make it. It became too hard to breathe, his lungs filled with fluid, and my Mom flew in just in time – just 24 hours before he died. I am so grateful they got to see each other one more time before he went. But god, it is bloody sad and I am having a hard time wrapping my head around it, and my heart.

Arriving in Spain feels like the culmination of years’ dreaming. The last few months have been overwhelmed with preparation. Now that I am here—faced with unexpected loss, still jetlagged and shaky—I see clearly and painfully how wrapped up we become in our plans, in how things ought to be, in how this or that needs to happen to make us happy. I am trying to let go of that as best I can. Plans rarely work out exactly how we imagine them, and often life presents us with something entirely different. Often we do not really know what will make us happy anyways, but certainly being present and appreciating what we have is one of the surer recipes.

I do not know what this year will bring. Walking along the river, along the cobble-paved boardwalks, I am doing my best not to fall apart as my world shifts and I don’t feel up to it. Maybe a bit more sleep will help. I think of Morfar and tell him in my heart how grateful I am for the time we did spend together. I do not know what happens when we leave this life, but regardless I wish his soul peace and so much love.

May we live and love well with the time we are given.