This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories…something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.
On Friday morning, I packed my bags (equal parts knitting/camera supplies and clothing), waved goodbye to my three little girls and headed out on the road with my dear cousin Maggie. We were on a little pilgrimage of sorts–the something I've always wanted to do. We took a long weekend away to visit our other dear cousin Catherine and experience first-hand some of our family history.
We saw the homes that my father, grandmother, grandfather, and other "great-greats" grew up in or called home. We stood on the shores of the bay where my grandmother once played and sailed. We visited gravestones, yacht clubs, cottages and main streets.
We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.
We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.
We laughed until our sides ached.
We cried some more.
I tried to figure out a way to really describe my weekend away, but I am truly left without words. It feels like something that can only be understood by a handful of people who know what I know, have known what I have known and long for the same things I long for.
But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.
I haven't done something like this in a very long time, leaving all my babes behind and going somewhere by myself. But I am returning with a sense of refreshment, contentment and a joyful sorrow that has been escaping me for quite some time.