As survivors, burdens we've borne become lessons we carry and share with others. In 1989 we moved to an apartment in Washington for Will's medical training. Six months pregnant with our third child, I had our two and four-year-old boys in tow. Will was hardly home; he was on call from the hospital every other night. It was such a sweet and adventurous time for our boys who awaited the blessing of their new sibling. I smiled, adept at belying my burden. My secret knew to remain within my fissured heart by day; come nightfall, once our boys were asleep, came my time to softly weep.

How could I learn to love my children when my own mother never loved me?

Our very first week I was approached by an elderly lady with an eager and effortless smile. Within the first five minutes of our introduction, I learned her name was Violet, she lived on our floor, and her door was always open to us if we needed anything. I also learned she had three grown boys and four grandchildren. Most importantly, I learned from her that a genuine mother's love transcends beyond her own children. Violet showed how a mother's love could be unconditional, unlimited and unsolicited.

One night after Will came home early I took up Violet's offer to visit her. Will embraced this opportunity to read to the boys and tuck them into bed while my new friend and I had tea. Violet was a woman of few words, albeit especially generous with her time and her kindness. That evening Violet shared she'd lost her husband years ago. She smiled when she told me her husband's sweetest musing; "Every woman who is loved is beautiful." Like a perennial, that sweet and hopeful saying was planted, everlasting in the garden of my soul. Her enchanting adventures with her grandchildren inspired me to believe that one day I would quell the constant hemorrhaging of hope from my heart.

Then she asked me about my story.

As I shared my grief, my tears fell faster than my future after the time my mother told me she "didn't care if I lived or died." With a nurturing empathy, Violet handed me tissues and encouraged me to tell her more. She teared up when I asked if she thought my mother would ever learn to love me. "You will learn to love yourself as you love your children and husband. You are worthy, beautiful, and have so much to give so many who have no hope. Trust in God to pick you up when you fall, your husband and children to fill your heart. You are a survivor-you were created to make a difference for many some day."

As that year sped by, Violet became a meaningful part of our lives and a surrogate grandma to our children. She rejoiced with us when adorable baby Alexander was born and attended all our boys' birthday parties. Most importantly she embraced me after I tried to permanently put an end to my pain. Violet had such an unequivocal understanding of life-especially my life. She intuitively understood my agony, declaring she loved me like a mother. She encouraged me to believe that my mother's inability to embrace or accept me had no bearing on the limitless love I was born to share.

Years later, after we moved cross-country, Violet's 40-year-old son died soon after a cancer diagnosis. Despite her overwhelming loss, she carried on; she knew she still had hearts to touch. Mine was one of them. I was nowhere near healing, and she knew that. She held my heart in her tender embrace...until last week.

Recently Violet lost her last remaining sister. She was tired and weak; in her 91 years she soothed many souls. She knew her promise to me had rung true; I survived, healed, and I've written a book to help others through their own travails. I am making the difference she promised.

Although in her last days Violet's heart failed, throughout her lifetime it never failed in providing her special brand of love. Now, she lives on through my heart into yours. Even if you never met her, you share the gift of grace she imparted. Losses will come our way, but we are survivors. We take what we've learned and write it into our tomorrows. Like flowers, lessons peek through the cracks in our hurting hearts and in good time, bloom to again color our view.

My sweet Violet, throughout your journey, you had a splendid view from a life well-lived. Next to your pictures of family, near the window where you watched the seasons change, your chair sits empty. But my heart remains full- of the joy and lust for life you imparted. I will never forget you, my beautiful friend. You willed me to survive. You awakened my heart.

Please visit me in my dreams.

With love, Dana