Summer of Sweetness and Grief, Loss and Reconnection

A Michigan recap of sorts and a loving tribute to my cousin, Becky

Friends! I’m back in the Philly suburbs after a month away in Michigan. It was sun-drenched and sand-dusted, of course. The kids’ hands were perpetually sticky from popsicles and bedtime was ignored most nights in favor of catching fireflies, going to the county fair, and endless pool time—exactly what summertime should feel like.

Giving my kids Michigan summers is something I don’t take for granted. I’m forever grateful to my high school cheerleading coach who, for the last five years, has opened her home to us while she heads to her Northern Michigan cottage for a few weeks.

Our jobs are flexible enough that we can work remotely despite calling the East Coast home. When in Holland, my lakeside hometown, we’re 10 minutes from my parents, no more than 30 minutes from countless cousins and friends, and there’s always a beach nearby. It’s truly magical.

As magical as it is, let’s be honest: it’s also exhausting. What do they say? Vacations are just parenting in a different location. A constant cycle of cobbling together childcare, using the mute button in meetings, and trying (and failing) to get the babies to nap in a place that’s not home.

I brought 8 books to Michigan and read three chapters. I had a goal to wake up every day before sunrise, drink my coffee, and go for a long walk. That happened…once.

But one night, I stayed up until midnight catching up with my twin sister and brother-in-law who live in Nashville. I daydream about living close enough to just pop by, and for a week, that was our reality, sending texts like, “Can you grab some Wilhelmina peppermints at Meijer?” and “What r u doing?”

We had the most special weekend hosting my brother and his girlfriend—my siblings and our partners together for the first time in two years. My parents joined us for dinner most evenings and we got ice cream enough times that the baby would smack her lips and sign “more” when we ordered.

We grilled spicy chicken from a new butcher in Holland (aptly named The Bearded Dutchman), and I made a strawberry rhubarb galette with fruit from the farmer’s market.

My inner baking nerd is happy to report that my trusty sourdough starter survived the road trip both ways and we introduced my youngest kids to hibachi (and may have permanently scarred my toddler who now says, “I scared fire, mama.”).

My dad took the kids to The Peanut Store, a candy shop I frequented growing up. My mom brought them swimming, where my seven-year-old jumped into the pool 87 times and was so exhausted, he slept until 9:30AM the next morning; a summer miracle!

I grabbed dinner with a high school friend who I haven’t seen in 20 years. A couple of months ago, I dreamed we were hanging out at a party and it felt so nostalgic. I’m trying to listen to my intuition more, so I spontaneously reached out to him via LinkedIn, which was less weird than it sounds.

We met at a Singaporean restaurant on a Tuesday evening and ordered dumplings and spicy noodles. We, of course, discussed a pact we made when we were 17—to marry each other if we were both still single at 40.

I turned 40 last month and he enters the new decade this month. We agreed it wouldn’t have worked out as we’re both happily married to our husbands, but we penciled in a double date next summer.

Perhaps most special of all was a get-together with some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins on my dad’s side. I have 32 first cousins on that side, ranging in age from 20s-60s. I think we were all together only one time, for my grandma’s funeral.

A bunch of us met at a park for a reunion picnic of sorts, toting coolers and Lays potato chips, pizza and subs, packs of Oreos and mosquito repellent.

The kids dominated the playground; there were so many, I didn’t even attempt counting. And my beloved cousin, Becky, came with her husband Chris.

Over the past few years, Becky has been fighting cancer. This past year, they ran out of treatment options. She sat at one of the picnic tables as we all greeted her with big squeezes and babies she hadn’t met yet.

I sat next to Becky for a bit, listening to her talk about her kids and her new grandbaby. She was tickled that the baby seemed to recognize her the last time she saw her.

“Do you remember when you babysat for us?” I asked. 32 years ago, Becky and Chris stayed with my siblings and me over a weekend when our parents were away.

“I do remember that,” she said. “We had so much fun, we brought you to the zoo!”

She chuckled heartily as she recounted sleeping on my parents’ water bed. “Chris and I kept rolling to the middle and we just laughed and laughed all night long.”

I remember both of them reaching up to my top bunk to give me a hug and kiss. “Good night, kiddo,” Chris said affectionately. My heart swelled—my cool, adult cousin and her handsome new husband hanging out with us kids!

The way Becky and Chris treasured each other stood out to me, even as a young child. I was deeply moved by the tenderness with which they treated each other. Their playfulness. Their exchanged “I love you’s” felt intentional and sacred.

The night of the family picnic, I watched as Chris set their dinner out on a table. A thermos of her favorite vegetable soup. Dinner rolls carefully packaged in Ziplocs. Bowls and spoons tucked into a lunchbox, an act of love. No matter where he was that evening, his gaze was never far from her, as gentle and steady as it was 32 years ago.

When the picnic was wrapping up, we all hugged each other extra-tight. My cousin Margo made plans to swim at Becky’s pool with her girls.

“I would love that so much,” Becky said. “Please come. We’ll float and lay in the sun.”

She hugged my sister extra-tight. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “I hope I see you again.”

That evening was Becky’s last coherent day. She moved to hospice a day later and slipped away peacefully on Thursday, July 31st in the afternoon, just one week after the picnic, surrounded by her seven kids and Chris.

You are treasured always, my precious cousin. I hope I see you again. x

Michigan is always special, but this summer felt especially meaningful. When I think back over the past few weeks, I remember the little moments, the in-between.

Looking out the window, seeing my seven-year-old running into the front yard with a flopping fish at the end of his fishing pole.

The baby pumping her legs every time we were near the lake so she could dip her toes in.

Fireworks going off as soon as we pulled into the driveway after 12 hours on the road on July 4th.

FaceTiming my dad with my toddler the morning of his birthday and instead of singing “Happy Birthday,” the two-year-old demanded: “WHERE MIMI?”

Realizing that my high school friends’ kids are old enough to help with the littlest kids (mine) when we get together, which means more catching up with the adults.

My brother dancing by our table at the restaurant with the baby.

My mom sprinkling sprinkles onto everything for the kids and then sprinkling some on the baby’s food so she wouldn’t feel left out.

And now for a quick fire overview of a few things that I wore, cooked, and picked up in Michigan.

Oversized buttondown always. It’s $22 guys

This tied around my waist at $27

Every morning after I moisturize. Bonus: it has SPF

Bringing some cottage into my MCM home

My go-to non-beach sandal

For my mail truck-obsessed toddler

This over rice with cucumber, carrots, avocado, Japanese BBQ sauce

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