Aging through the eyes of a daughter

We just returned from a beautiful trip to visit my folks in North Carolina. We hadn't seen them up there in a few years. We were overdue, even though they live most of the year in Miami with us, it brings them such joy when we see them there. Their love is their place up there. A very simple home with the most spectacular property. It is their pride and joy. The first month of calls we receive each summer is all about the blooming of their newly planted garden, the grass coming in fresh again like velvet. The pond with trout jumping, and the fruit trees loaded with buds. They have had this home for 29 years and the phone calls have a life and rhythm all their own. It is their story. It is the place where they watched their 17 year old develop a huge crush on the real estate agent showing them the property. They are still friendly with him to this day, and I always smile inside when I see him. Nice memories.

My brother, sister and I all loved that place, we brought our future spouses there, making the them pass the Appalachian ski slope test, even though none of them had ever skied before. Mine actually got removed from the mountain for reckless skiing, he wasn't reckless just trying not to die that day.

We took our babies there for their first trips. Our oldest went at 5 weeks, got his first cold at 5 weeks as well.

We had a nightmare occur there, when our 2nd son was thought to be dying as he slowly lost consciousness and help was too far away to call on. My husband and brother-in-law had just left that morning. I remember my sister and I laying over him, breathing into him, pushing on his chest as we laid him out on the grass. The trip down the mountain unending, he survived and went on to have no memories of that horrible night. As his mom, his memory keeper, I hold the scars just below the surface, something I was never the same after. Life actually became more fragile and sweet. The house in NC bore witness to that as well.

We brought the cousins together there and crowded all 9 of them into cribs, cots, rollaways, couches and beds. Those were the wild days. My parents were the proud, young, vital grandparents. Very much the matriarch and patriarch of this loud, boisterious crew. Soon the babies starting growing up a bit enough to cast fishing lines that caught more tree branches than fish. My father forever patient. Always he had everything ready for those boys, even built a basketball court when he thought that would keep them coming.

Life moved forward and my parents had to survive through the death of one of their own babes. They lost their oldest daughter to breast cancer. The house once again was witness to our life, and yet was no longer just a house it was all a home should be, lending comfort when my parents needed to retreat into themselves for a bit. It was the first place they turned to when they needed to be shielded. To turn into the arms of only each other. To be each other's balm and solace.

They have had annual July 4th parties for years until their friends had trouble driving over the rural mountain roads to get to my parents home. They would chuckle at how old their friends were getting. This trip it is the start of my parents turn. The steps are getting tough for my Dad. He holds on tight and forces himself to just keep going. My mom has mentioned the roads are getting a bit tough for my Dad...tears slip down my cheeks as I think of my hero, the love of my life receding into a place that even the house can't rescue him from, just comfort him a long his journey. Love you Mom and Dad. xo ginny