Above text from daughter poking fun at our New England weather.
Erin. My daughter. My first born. She moved to Florida a little over a year ago and I miss her. To me, Florida may as well be Mars. That’s how far away it and she seems to me.
Erin use to live in Boston. I liked that better. It was closer, familiar, and within the same weather pattern. That’s why she moved. The weather. She hates cold. She loaths cold. She had to get away. She loves the sun, the heat, the palm trees. I must say that I don’t blame her on the palm trees part.
Unlike her brother, Erin had an easy childhood. She was easy going, fun to be with, accepting of everyone, especially her brother. She loved her little brother. She and I spent countless hours together having fun and laughing. Then the teen years hit and she struggled in a variety of ways, just like how so many of our teen girls struggle. She finally found herself when she listened to the call that had been calling her since early childhood. She went to school and became a hair stylist. And a good one. She worked for the best salons in Boston. She styled the hair of many very famous people. They all loved her. She was happy, worked with people she cared about, and made a ton of money.
Then the Boston Marathon bombing happened. She was at the finish line cheering. She ran. Her friends ran. They ran all the way across the Salt and Pepper Bridge and didn’t stop until they were safe in Cambridge. Physically safe that is. She still won’t talk about it. She moved. She moved far away to a land of sun and warmth and palm trees. She moved to a land without a finish line.
I miss her and the fun, carefree days of her youth. I guess it’s time to go visit the land of palm trees and drinks that you sprinkle your salt on.