Positive?

February 23rd, 2026

I never dreamed that I could look at moments of grief and see anything that could be defining in a positive way.

How can grief lead to anything good? Grief is loss. Grief is overwhelming. Grief cuts you to the core. It is shattering. It is traumatic. It forever defines a before and an after. So how can anything within that ever be considered “good”?

A little over five years ago, a beautiful soul told me that life would never get easier without Melina. And that has held true. But they also told me it would become different.

I feared different. I never asked for different. I would take Melina back in a heartbeat—faster if that were possible. There are still days I can’t believe this has happened. Truly, part of me still thinks this must be a nightmare and that I will wake up.

But today wasn’t that day.

Today, I felt her everywhere. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the Cheeto filling a convention center. Maybe it was the smiles on her sisters’ faces as they competed. But today, I also saw how Melina has changed.  

My mom called me when USA men’s hockey won. We are not big hockey fans per se, but I love the Olympics. She told me how powerful the medal ceremony was and how my dad had tears in his eyes watching the team honor their friend—their loss, their grief. It is so important for families to hear their loved ones’ names spoken. We just want to know they are never forgotten.

This is our different.

Hours later, my baby sister hosted a pediatric cancer game—“Go Bold, Go Gold”—at their home arena, honoring their hero who fought her own childhood pediatric cancer battle. In that moment, I realized just how much Melina has changed all of us.

Melina lives through us. We are better because of her. We fight for change. We stand for what matters. We battle for a cause that needs us. And we battle because Melina taught us to.

Melina knew that for her love to continue, the world needed to understand the fight. She wanted us to share. She wanted us to do whatever we could—whether it’s hosting a gala with a streak of her “Cheeto trashy” woven through it, organizing a pediatric basketball game, or simply saying the names of those who are no longer here because they deserve to be spoken. We have the ability to do those things. Melina instilled that in us and continues to, even five years later.

Today, my daughter wore a ribbon in her hair that she earned—a Melina Award. We do not take that lightly in our home. If you put Melina’s name on something, you live up to her standard. And her standard was nothing less than 110 percent.  That’s exactly what she did.

A few hours later I listened to one of the closest basketball games of my youngest sister’s season, I kept thinking: she will win and never doubted it. And for the first time in her  college’s women’s basketball history, they beat that team. History was made at their pediatric cancer game.

Why?

She put Melina’s name on it.

And when you do that—when you genuinely believe in what you are doing and in the fight she taught us—joy will always win.

Even in the hard.

Even in the loss.

Even in the tragic.

It becomes different.

And in that different, if we live the way they taught us to live, we all win.

My greatest teacher taught me I have a choice. And today, I chose to see the joy. 💚🌈🎗️