Last Saturday I took a trip to central Massachusetts. I had been preparing for weeks to drive 200 miles to the small town of Turners Falls, and I decided that the predicted heavy rain would not keep me from going. It took an hour longer than it was supposed to, and I felt a sense of accomplishment when I arrived. The purpose for the trip was to donate fabric, satin binding, yarn, and pattern books that were new and usable, things I had had for years or had inherited and hadn't used. There is a small shop in this small town that is making a name for itself in that it offers sewing/craft materials that will benefit from finding homes with people who will use what others have donated. They also offer classes and opportunities to gather for sewing, knitting, and crafting. The place is not on my way to anywhere but it was worth the trip.
From Turners Falls I headed to the Boston area to catch up with my sons and their families for Fathers Day. My sons are a pleasure to watch with their kids. I could not be more proud of them.
I decided years ago that when I got the idea to go somewhere I should go. I love to drive. I love to travel. If I make plans, and I am able, I follow through.
Sometimes things happen beyond my control. Then I wish I had made the trip earlier, which often wasn't an option, but I feel sorry still.
In early 2022 I made plans to travel to West Virginia in the summer to see my mom. My younger son and his family were also planning a trip to visit. In fact, from the hospital I talked to them about moving their trip to later in the summer until Grandma Ellie was settled in a rehab facility. The last time we'd visited was 2019, and we had scheduled different weeks to go to spread out the socializing for my mom. I have wonderful photos from those visits and am so glad we went when we did. The pandemic put off travel for the next two summers but last year we felt secure enough to plan the visits. Best laid plans....
I have been thinking this week about two other times my family has lost someone important to us, just as we were planning a visit. In 1982 Ken and I and the kids were going to Maryland for Thanksgiving. Ken has a large family and we were looking forward to seeing everyone. Just a few days before we were due to leave we got the call that Ken's mom had had a sudden fatal heart attack. We were devastated. Of course we all gathered but that day and all the gatherings after that felt the loss of Grammy.
Just three years later we lost one of the most important people in our lives, a dear friend of Ken's family for decades, the man who started as a neighbor and became a mentor and friend to 12 year-old Ken who introduced him to travel, specifically to the state of Maine. We couldn't have been closer to Linwood if he had been a blood relative. When we moved to Maine we chose to live in the city where he had a home and started a business when he retired. We still talk about how glad we are that we had the years we did with Linwood. We spent holidays and birthdays with him and ordinary days in between. In 1985 I was home with my 6 year-old daughter and 3 year-old son, getting ready for Christmas and waiting for Ken to get home from work; it was Christmas Eve and we had plans for dinner at Linwood's. The call came that Linwood was with friends when he had a heart attack and died before anything could be done. We cried for days. All these years later we remember fondly our times with Linwood and share stories with our kids and grandkids.
The lesson for me through the years has been to take the trip, make the visit, and listen to the inner voice that says, "Go." I've never been sorry I listened.
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