Today I visited my parents’ graves. I don’t get to do it often as they are so far away. They are buried in Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego, a city that they both loved but where I never found a home.   They moved there after I graduated from high school and while I spent a summer or two at their house, I never thought of it as “home.”  I would never tell anyone I have lived in San Diego because I haven’t; I suspect that Kansas City will be the same for my kids – it’s where mom and dad live but they don’t. And that’s okay.

 

 

 

 

 

I think back on when I was growing up.  We were in Massachusetts.  One set of grandparents (no cousins) was in Pennsylvania.  Another grandmother (with a few cousins) was in New Jersey.  It was always a major production to go visit family because they never lived close.  That was how I thought it was supposed to be. Distance doesn’t matter if you are family.

So when I  got married and had kids, we lived on the east coast of the US. We never questioned that one set of grandparents (no cousins) lived on the west coast and the other grandparents (with a few cousins) lived in Scotland.  We used to joke that we had it great because we each were 3000 miles from our in-laws.  It is quite a distance and continued the trend that visiting family was a major production.  But distance doesn’t matter because they are family.

Then my dad died.  My mom moved closer to us and for 10 years, my kids and I discovered what it means to have family nearby.  Frustrating. Exhausting. Comforting.  When she first moved to Virginia, mom used to come to our house for Sunday dinner – on Friday.  Yup, she spent every weekend of those first two years with us. My kids were little (3 and 5) and got to build a relationship with her that I never had with either of my grandmothers.  I got a sense that distance might matter, even with family.

And now both my parents are gone as is Frank’s dad.  My kids have one grandmother who still lives 3000 miles from them (with the cousins).  They have other cousins now – still on the west coast, still 3000 miles from them.  Mom and dad have moved 1000 miles from where they go to college.  And they are 600 miles apart. They have made sure they have a bond that crosses miles though:  they now have matching tattoos designed by a friend of Jesse’s representing how close they are regardless of the distance. [I think it’s a little crazy but love the fact that they are so close.]

 

When we moved to Kansas City, everyone asked if the kids – especially Jesse – would transfer schools to be closer to us.  That never occurred to any of us. She loves Vermont and we never had any expectation that she would go anywhere else.  Now Duncan is graduating and applying for jobs everywhere.  Again, people have asked me if he’s looking to move closer to us.  And again, we would never consider that a requirement. That’s not to say it wouldn’t be nice.  I would love to be able to have them over for dinner and spend time with them that doesn’t involve airports and TSA screenings. But I still believe that distance doesn’t matter – even if I feel it more now.