What was your first big trip?

Our journey began in the wee hours of the morning. It was chilly with a foot of melting snow on the ground. After a two hour drive we arrived in New York City at Laguardia airport. It was here that unbeknownst to my family and I, a new beginning was about to start. We boarded the airplane bound to Florida for our first flight. It was 1968 and I was twelve years old. Excitement and nervousness were in equal measure. The plane ride made me feel grownup and sort of worldly. I felt part of something larger then life on our farm.

We exited the plane on the tarmac, greeted by palm trees, blinding sun and ocean air. This was as foreign a place that we had ever been. For one week we had the chance to swim in the ocean, eat at restaurants and regroup as a family. This was crucial, as two months previous, my dad died suddenly of a heart attack. We were broken and trying to find our way through the shock and heartache. It was my godmother who suggested this trip. She had a winter home in Boca Raton where we could stay. From the time we landed in Boca we were giddy with excitement. This did not abate the entire time. We walked into her light filled home with sunroom attached, claimed our beds and settled in for the week.

We laughed, treated each other’s sunburns, shopped and ate at restaurants. This was light years away from our life in New York. We felt uplifted. Rejuvenated. We had fun. Something none of us could have imagined. My mom was lighter and she fell in love with Florida. A love that continued in the years ahead, as she eventually made her home in Boca. The healing waters had made their mark. We were going to be okay. When it was time to leave, we were strangely ready for home. A new path had been made. Life would always be different without my dad, but we were still a family on an adventure. Not knowing what lies ahead, but stronger in our bond. Traveling to Florida helped us pick up the pieces and forge ahead in a new world.