For most of my adult life, I’ve been utterly captivated by the aurora borealis. The idea of standing beneath those dancing lights filled me with a kind of childlike excitement. Last year, during a JMU football game of all places, we heard the Northern Lights were visible as far south as Virginia. I immediately made Eric drive me to the nearest dark park, hoping for a glimpse. And while we did catch something with the help of a camera, it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. It felt like a near-miss—just enough to keep the dream alive.

Fast forward a year, and we found ourselves planning a trip to Iceland with one main goal in mind: finally seeing the Northern Lights. But the trip almost didn’t happen. My mom’s health was declining, and we decided to stay home for Thanksgiving to gather all the siblings and grandkids—one more family moment we hoped she’d be there for. But Mom had other plans. She left this Earth sooner than any of us were ready for. And although I thought I had prepared myself, I hadn’t.

In the end, we decided to go. My mom loved to travel in her younger years and often told me about the summer she backpacked through Europe. Her very first stop was Reykjavík. It felt fitting—almost poetic—to start our own journey there. Before we left, I prayed to her and to Mama J, asking them to show us the lights. There’s never a guarantee, but I hoped.

Our first night in Reykjavik passed quietly. Sarah ventured out at 3 a.m. (while the rest of us were knocked out from jetlag) and caught the faintest glimpse, but still nothing truly visible. On our second night, we headed to a remote cabin near Selfoss—one of the most unique places I’ve ever stayed. The best part? The front desk promised to call the cabin if the aurora appeared.

We were settling in after a long day of hiking when the phone rang around 7 p.m. Eric and I made eye contact—could this be it? It was. The aurora was visible.

We threw on boots and coats and ran outside like excited kids. And there they were. Our first real glimpse of the Northern Lights. Magnificent. Breathtaking. And of course, I cried. We took pictures, but mostly we just stood there in awe, letting the sky take our breath away.

At 10 p.m., the phone rang again—more activity. Back outside we went, into a sky full of stars and swirling color. Later that night at bedtime, Eric looked at me and said, “Okay, Kathy and Joan can stop sending the lights now.” We had an early morning ahead, but honestly, if the phone had rung again, we would’ve been right back out there.

The next night brought even more magic. After dinner, we stepped outside the restaurant and were greeted by the Northern Lights again—no phone call required. And when we returned to the cabin, they appeared again. Two nights in a row. Different shapes, different colors, each moment more incredible than the last.

Checking this off my bucket list was everything I hoped it would be and more. Iceland has a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.” There was never any guarantee we’d see the aurora, and yet we were gifted with its beauty again and again.

I truly believe my Mom and Mama J were watching over us—sending us the lights, sending us comfort, and reminding us that beauty finds its way to us, even in the hardest moments.