Growing up, family was everything to us. Since only one uncle moved away from the area to North Carolina with his wife to start his family, both sides of my family were in close proximity and we spent much time together. I was the eldest child on my mother’s side and second eldest on my father’s side of the family. God blessed us with kind, caring, fun and loyal relationships.

My mother had three brothers who with their wives had seven children. There were four children in my household. My father had two brothers and with their wives there were only four children, three of whom were raised in North Carolina. Even they seemed close in spirit, although we saw each other usually once each year. When we did get back together it was as though we had not been apart that long.

I grew up feeling very loved by my grandparents, aunts and uncles, as well as my parents. God truly blessed me with family that had amazing camaraderie and our picnics, Sunday dinners, holidays and sleep-overs were filled with laughter, games, food, hugs and teasing. The smell of Grandma Vestrat’s Sunday dinners were enough to fill you full. The counter was lined with luscious homemade fruit pies and heavy, frosted cake while the Jell-O dessert and the sweet cream pies hid in the refrigerator. The table was set all around for at least ten; it wasn’t unusual for extras to drop in. She loaded the table with baked rigatoni, juicy fried chicken, baked ham, cool potato salad, crisp coleslaw, baked beans and relish trays. Sometimes she served her infamous turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, succotash and stuffing balls. The sage filled the house as well as your senses. We filled our plates and as Mom tried to tell us to only take what we would eat, Grandma insisted we take all we thought we wanted. Even as we left half our plates, to Mom’s chagrin, Grandma lovingly passed out the dessert plates and ordered us to fill them in the same manner. Finding comfortable spots here and there, everyone fell asleep after the huge meal.

My favorite day of the year, Christmas Eve, our family of six joined the large group gathered at Grandma Lady’s, my maternal grandmother’s, for our wonderful, blessed time of giving, receiving, eating and laughing. The required good luck Christmas Eve meal included oyster stew, which hardly anyone ate. Though some braved the oysters, others were required to take a bit of the broth at the minimum for the good luck that I’m not sure the family ever saw. Each family brought trays of Christmas cookies to share and Grandma Lady didn’t fuss over a big meal. She put out the bread, ham and cheese and we all happily gorged on cookies, nut roll and candy.

My mother’s family lived for gift-giving. Grandma would get “guess gifts” weeks before Christmas. The older she got, it turned into something that could start even before Thanksgiving which then, upon the guessing of the gift, would require the purchase of a new one. This wonderful tradition has been passed down to my mother and my two sisters and me. So there was no simple exchange. Some people were still working on their guessing. Some people got gag gifts. All in all the room was full of brightly colored wrapping paper, ribbons and bows, giggling children, roaring uncles and chattering aunts.

In the back yard was a huge multi-limbed tree that we called “the climbing tree” and we claimed it as ours. We cousins in the summer ran to our tree where we each had ownership over a particular branch. Everyone knew which limb belonged to which cousin and the tree seemed animated, holding each of us kids in its arms, swaying with enjoyment as we laughed and told stories and acted silly. Its leaves rustled and shaded us from the hot sun and no matter how warm it got, it seemed comfortable in the tree.

Having been a widow since 1969, Grandma Lady was considering marriage. I spent quite a lot of time with her through the summer, on weekends and holidays. We would ponder her choices together and I always came to the same conclusion. A wonderful man named Phil, whom we called Flip, had lost his wife around 1960. He lived close to my grandparents’ home at that time and they basically took him on as family. He was glad for the company having had only one son who lived in Alaska, a far piece from Pennsylvania. Flip and I were very close. From the time I was six months old, he took me out to dinner with him and bounced me on his knee, as I was told I was a colicky baby, trying to give my Mother a break. I also spent a great deal of time with him. In fact, my time was probably almost equally split between the two. So it was obvious who my choice was. “I think you should just marry Flip.”

To my amazement, on Christmas Eve, 1980, she did! Oh the completion of the family, now being able to call him “Pap” and no longer splitting time, but spending it with them together was fulfilling and sweet. I traveled two years later with him to Washington, where his son then lived. My heart swelled and tears were gathering as he told everyone, “This is my granddaughter!” Having very few memories of my grandpap, it was a hole filled with the choicest of men when the familial relationship became official.

Those were golden years with pearls of memories, rivers of laughter, endless blue skies of hope, yellow hay fields full of promise, soft, sweet horses neighing in the barn awaiting their grain, aromas that engulf your senses and never leave you, sparkling window snowflakes beckoning us in out of the cold, crisp autumn leaf piles waiting to be jumped upon, warm hugs, holding big, rough hands, enveloped in safe, unconditional love.

As it goes with life, I grew up and got married at the age of twenty to my beau of the last three years. I lived away from my family for the first ten years of my marriage. How I would ache for their companionship! Uncle Fred visited each place we lived. My parents made trips as often as they could and we came home once in a while. My younger siblings and my husband’s younger brother spent many weekends, time in the summer and some holiday time with us, but it was devastating to me that life was marching by and I was disconnected from that which felt so secure and I loved so much.

When we finally followed company openings and moved home in 1994, my children were nine and four. How much time they missed with their extended family! It absolutely killed me to see that my youngest would not stay overnight at my sister's or my parent's house. It wasn't that they never saw them, but they didn't see them often enough or stay (along with us) at their houses often enough to be comfortable staying alone. They had no clue what it could have been like to be raised closely as I had been with the family.

Moving back was like water to a woman dying of thirst. I am so incredibly thankful for God's timing. From 1997 to present, I have lost both Grandma Lady and Pap Flip, three uncles, two aunts and three cousins. I would have grieved infinitely more sadly had I not been able to spend time with them, be with them through their sicknesses, hospital stays, their passing and comforting and grieving with remaining family afterwards. Each loss was like a stake in the heart. The pain was sometimes more than I thought I could bear. My twenty-eight year old cousin and twenty-eight year old wife to another cousin died within two weeks of each other last spring. That was more grief than I could bear. Last autumn, reluctantly I admitted to my doctor that the depression would not lift and I could not function normally. It felt as though I was admitting a great weakness to accept an antidepressant, but I finally came to terms with the fact that I needed help.

This much loss has changed me drastically. I do not sweat the small stuff, and as Ellie says, "It's all small stuff." I do not miss an opportunity to be with my parents, siblings, nieces, nephews and remaining aunt and uncle. I feel such deep, great joy when I can bless with a little gift, a shared dinner, any token from a trip or guess gift at Christmas. I never pass up an opportunity to hug, kiss and tell them how much I love them. Uncle Fred’s sixtieth birthday is next week, September 8th. We are having a surprise party for him and I will be there. I do not take that for granted! My sister graduated college with her bachelor’s degree in Medieval History and Labor Day we are surprising her with a graduation party. I will be there. My parents will be driving to Nova Scotia and away for nine days and I will take care of their house, cats, bills and whatever else needs done. This is not a chore or an inconvenience. This is a blessing because I am here for them as they are for me.

I have always been a caretaker/nurturer personality. The reality of loss has made me who I am today. The day Grandma Vestrat passed away, I had an urge to call her but didn’t. I thought I would wait until the weekend when the rates went down. Then I got the phone call that evening that she was gone. I swore that I would never feel that regret again. There is no healing a missed opportunity to let someone know how much you love them, that you’re thinking of them, that they’re special to you. The people in my family photo from Sept. 1997, before they all began disappearing from my life, were my stability in this cruel world. I look at that photograph now and it’s as though they are literally fading away one by one, no respecter of age. They are shadows now, pictures of people who are my blood, my history, my assurance and unequivocal love. Their loss is great, but their legacy is also.

I so enjoy hosting a party for my nieces and nephews, no parents allowed! (supposedly) I relish time with my parents, siblings, Uncle Fred and Aunt Liz. Like savoring the warm sun, I soak up their laughter. I make mental snapshots of little moments in time. I stop and breathe in the salty ocean air encouraging my niece to do the same. Closing our eyes, I tell her to do this when she is frustrated, tired of being in school or having a difficult moment: stop, close your eyes, see the ocean and feel the sand, and breathe in the warm, soft, salty breeze while you hear the waves lapping the shore. Now, a year later, I remind her and that special moment rushes to the forefront, a snapshot in time that we will never forget. I smile as I wrap guess gifts disguised by too large a box containing a rock for weight and wonder how long it will take Mom to guess, as I may have to buy another before Christmas. Christmas Eve may be held at my home soon and I will make the oyster stew and force everyone to have a bit of broth to keep up our good luck!

I want to carry on the legacy that my aunts and uncles were to me. I realize that it’s simply my turn to be the unconditionally loving, ever-giving, hugging, laughing aunt who makes secure the dear nieces and nephews, and mom to my boys and eventually the spoiling grandmother. It is the natural cycle of life. I have been left with a high bar to reach, but I am here and I will enjoy each step of the journey and every moment of reaching towards it.