Tomorrow is the 4th of July and as a child, it would mean good times. My multigenerational family would gather together to celebrate and I would play with my cousins and friends until everyone went home.

I can still remember the smell of the barbecue grill my Aunt Maggie would set up at 6am. I can still taste my mother’s potato salad and spaghetti.

I can still hear the sounds of fireworks that terrified me and still terrify me until this day (I’m such a scary cat😅😅😅) but marveled at the beauty of sight of the fireworks on a hot summer night.

I remember running around like wild heathens with my cousins, only stopping for occasional juice and water breaks to replenish ourselves.

That was back in day though and now everyone is scattered living their own lives or dead so it’s different now. Since the death of my eldest brother four years ago, the holidays really don’t matter to me anymore, even with me being a mother and grandmother. I’ve created my own traditions but I’ve lost a lot of my sparkle for the holidays. But when the summer holidays come around, and the smell of barbecue permeates the air and my nose gets a whiff, nostalgia hits me hard in my heart and soul, and I remember.