The house that built me

We gathered this week, in our childhood vacation spot, to honor my parents. I thought we were there for closure. Our dad passed away in August 2022, mom following in April 2023. They were cremated, did not want any funerals, and their ashes have been sitting in my living room ever since.

It’s been an emotional week for me because this is also mine and Joe’s favorite little beach town. It’s where we’ve been vacationing for many years, and the first time I’ve been back since he passed away ten months ago.

But last night, on what would have been my parent’s 69th wedding anniversary, we gathered for dinner before an informal memorial service. As I looked around as everyone was visiting and laughing, I realized it wasn’t closure that I needed. It was just love. Generations and generations of love.

I come from a large family. There are five children and we are spread across the country. But, no matter how far away we are, we always pick back up where we left off when we see each other. We’ve kept in touch through marriages, divorces, health issues, babies and grand babies. When our parents went into hospice, we showed up. We sat vigil with each other until their last breaths.

I was overcome with emotion last night. Ranging in age from 4 to 67, the legacy of my beautiful parents was overwhelming.

Somehow this week we managed to get almost everyone to Florida. We missed the few who couldn’t make it, but what a tribute it was to the most amazing parents in the world. This is the house that built me, and I am so grateful to have these memories to take with me.