I've been thinking a lot about my mom. I guess I've been missing her. She's usually in New York City at this time of year, in her little treehouse apartment across the courtyard (we call it that because of the way the trees dance at the windows). But she is more frail this year than last, and traveling less. She's in St. Lucia at the moment, planning to return to Jamaica to stay with my brother's two youngest while he travels to Houston for surgery in July. She won't make it up this way until perhaps August, when my brother's older daughter heads back north for college and can travel with her.
On June 11, my mom and dad would have been married 61 years. Here a photo of them as newlyweds in 1949, living in Spanish Town, Jamaica.
A couple of months later, they left for England so my dad could study law. They have been a traveling couple ever since, living first in London where my brother was conceived, then raising a family in Jamaica, then moving to Antigua and staying just long enough for me to meet my husband, and finally to St. Lucia, where my dad retired, and later died. My mom refuses to give up the house where she was last with him, even though she is so far away from us. But she has good friends of all ages in St. Lucia. She has people who love and take care of her like family. She inspires that.
Here is another photo I found while looking for the one of my parents as newlyweds. This is of my mother and me. I was not yet a year old.
Every time I look at this picture, I feel incredibly lucky. The delight my mother took in her babies is plain to see. Not every child is so blessed. I look at this and feel both gratitude for my own situation and sadness for children who never see this expression on a parent's face.