Perched on the rocker on her front porch, she closes her eyes and soaks up the whimsical sound of the children playing across the street. A strong breeze stirs the wind chimes above her head and she smiles thinking of her wedding day fourteen years ago. 

The breeze catches one of the smaller children’s giggles and ushers it onto the porch, swirling it around her head. She immediately hears her childhood in it; those delicious years of conjuring up magical worlds with her sisters, hamming it up for her mother, and building majestic snow forts with her dad. Those forts seemed so huge and her father towering over them gave him a larger-than-life countenance. Then there were the summers in the woods and on the lake, and the road trips to the east and the south to dip their feet in the ocean. She loved almost nothing more than talking trees with her father. 

Firmly rooted in her mid-50s now, those honey-dipped years recede further and further in the rearview mirror – presenting the possibility of disappearing altogether. She doesn’t lament this though. And she doesn’t regard those years passing as a loss but rather as the brilliant foundational first chapter of her life. She’s grateful for the peace, security, and happiness of the first chapter. The first several chapters, really. It was a time when she knew with certainty that she would always feel part of something. She would ALWAYS be part of her family.

She rests her head back and stares up at the grey autumnal sky. She closes her eyes and breathes in the wet and earthy scent of the season. Something in her throat catches. The holidays will be here soon. And she ponders gathering with her parents. Her father will most certainly comment on the state of the lawn, challenge her to a round of Jeopardy!, and drink one too many mai tais and start singing “Tiny Bubbles.” And her mother will offer to help in the kitchen, as she always does, while eager to hear about the happenings in her daughters’ and grandchildren’s lives. Perhaps they’ll watch a holiday movie, talk about their wishes and dreams, exchange meaningful gifts, or engage in any other number of new holiday traditions they’ve instituted over the years that so beautifully complement the traditions from her youth that ‘made the season bright.’ 

She snuggles deeper into her rocker and notices the earthy scent has taken on the slightly sweet smell of rot now. All but one of the children have been called inside. And it’s the oldest child, who’s quietly playing by herself. Another breeze stirs the chimes. And she thinks of her parents again. Their joy when they presented her and her husband with those chimes on her wedding day. How they’d just always been there. And how she assumed they always would be. 

“To assume is to make an ass of u and me,” her father used to joke. He was right though. 

She won’t see her parents this year for the holidays. Neither will her sisters. Just as they didn’t last year or the year before that. Because the truth is, there were never any new holiday traditions that included exchanging thoughtful gifts, watching movies, or having meaningful conversations. Over the past three decades, there’s been a gradual and steady unraveling. She’s witnessed her father slowly descend into irrational and sometimes hateful rhetoric – echoing the talking heads that spew fear and lies from every television in his house from dawn until dusk each and every day. He’s even directed it at her and her sisters. And as her mother rallied to stay connected over the years, she began to drift as her once razor-sharp brain grew weary and eventually surrendered to Alzheimer’s.  

Now they are thousands of miles away. And there are no conversations at all. Her father is lost in lies, and her mother is lost in herself.

She feels as though her parents have died. Except that they haven’t. With every ignored text message or unanswered call, she senses their presence on the planet. And it leaves her in an oppressive state of limbo. So she comes to sit on the porch every afternoon to rejuvenate. She loves the fuzzy quality of the October light and it brings her joy to hear the children laughing. And when the voices of her parents come through those wind chimes, it reminds her of their love. 

Wherever it may be.