Who knew our tribe has the emotional DNA to celebrate the 90th birthday of a dead man?

Some years ago and after their collective children were finally all off to school in the fall our daughters began the countdown for their annual get together with their Dad to celebrate his octogenarian birthdays.

Reluctant to abandon a family tradition this year they kidnapped me and we spent a splendid weekend together on the driftwood latticed shores of Puget Sound. The rhythm of the tides washed our souls clean. The skittering shore birds captured our attention. We relaxed and reconnected with our inner psyche and each other.

The ladies packed coolers and bags of favorite food and drinks. We laughed, we cried, we bought insane amounts of fresh lefsa. They concocted mimosas and uncorked the wine.

We read, we knit, and they did impossibly hard jigsaw puzzles. We shopped, they hiked, and we sat thru the Oscar bumbles.

To sweeten the mix granddaughters arrived to share our time together. The newest great-grandbaby brought her infectious smile and cuddled our hearts. We shared plans for future days, offered up dreams and hopes. We explored genetics and history interspersed with litanies of the workplace.

When they were young my husband taught our sons to fish. In a heartbeat they shepherded him along on their stag fish-cations. He loved both ways.

Our daughters coaxed their father into shopping malls in three countries. Suddenly they were tag-teaming nursing Dad back to wellness after surgeries. Full circle devotion.

DNA allows us to grieve and to rejoice. Families support and understand us. Hearts touch hearts and we are infinitely better because of it.

Life goes bumbling on – and this is a good thing. Shockingly, it is a truly, very good thing.

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