The day before the annual day function at my school, all the students were asked to wear the school uniform. After coming home, I listened to some music through the crystal radio (which I had built using a few inexpensive items). I switched stations and was informed that Jupiter would be visible today. So, I went outside, taking with me the homemade reflecting telescope that I had built the previous weekend. I was fortunate enough to see Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. The next day, I went to school wearing the uniform, but I was stupefied when I saw that nobody else was wearing the uniform. Eventually, I learned that the teachers were solely educating us about the school rules, but they were aware that no one would be wearing the uniform. Since I have autism and was an introvert without any friends at that time, I obviously didn't know that everyone else would be wearing casual dress. As I entered the school, everybody stared at me and I felt very uncomfortable. Then one of my classmates came towards me and asked why I was wearing the school uniform. The word "uniform" kept resonating in my mind, and suddenly, at that moment, a thought materialized. I replied, "But nobody else is wearing the uniform today, so look around you. It is no longer a uniform, at least not for today." And then everyone smiled at me. This incident happened during my 10th standard annual day function when I was 14 years old.

It seems like only yesterday when my granddaughter, Stephanie was seven years old. At the time, my son and his family lived in New York making visits infrequent but enjoyable. Seeing them was always a treat. One day in 2005, almost became a disaster. My son, and his family arrived on a Saturday afternoon. While the house was in order and the bedrooms cleaned and ready for them, what I wasn't prepared for was Stephanie's loose tooth. My daughter-in-law wasn't too concerned thinking it would stay put for another two or three weeks, since it didn't seem loose enough to fall out. The plan was a week-long visit with me, then they would be heading to central Florida for a week with Joanne's mom, then back to New York. We did whatever could to make that week fun, interesting, and memorable. One day, we decided to make a trip to a local nature park where we would have the opportunity to see live animals: boars, cows, steer, birds, and alligators. We were all excited since we never had the good fortune to see these animals close enough to take a picture or two. We arrived at the park early and ate the picnic lunch we packed. Not long after we finished eating, it was time to turn in our admission tickets and board the sight-seeing bus for the tour. Anticipation grew. We were eager. But that turned out not to be the highlight of our week. We arrived home late in the afternoon and decided to make a cookout of burgers and hot dogs for dinner with a side dish of homemade macaroni salad. As my husband grilled the food, my daughter-in-law and I set the table. My son and his children were in the pool. Before I knew it, the day was done, and the kids were heading to bed. We four adults stayed up watching TV and taking about the shows we watched. We laughed and had a few great moments, then we headed to our respective bedrooms. Early the next morning, we were awakened by a loud scream. It was my granddaughter. Thinking the worse, all of us raced into her bedroom, expecting to see blood – or - or, we had no idea or what. What we saw was Stephanie standing by the bed, hysterically crying, hold something in one clenched fist. My daughter-in-law quickly wrapped her arms around her daughter and said, “Steph, what's wrong? Please tell me.” Steph pulled away slightly, unfolded her tightly closed fingers, and exposed a tooth! Her tooth! In between sobs, she said, “Mom, the tooth fairy won't know where I am. She'll never find me!” Joanne looked at me a rolled her eyes. That is what had my granddaughter so upset! We tried to console Steph, but it wasn't easy. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in my head, I had an idea. But it had to wait a day. The next day, thinking she'd never get her dollar from the tooth fairy, Steph tried to enjoy our trip to the wharf where we hoped to see dolphins in the harbor. We ate lunch at a local restaurant, walked around a seaside village and then headed home. It was obvious that Steph was trying hard not to spoil the vacation for her family but just as obvious that her heart was longer enjoying it. I pulled my daughter-in-law aside. “Let her stay up a bit later. You'll see why when she falls asleep.” Once Stephanie was asleep, I drove to the supermarket and bought a small bouquet of flowers. Arriving home, I wrote a note, “Dear Stephanie, I apologize that your reward for giving me another tooth was delayed. I went to your house only to find you weren't there. I went to your grandmother in central Florida. You weren't there either. Then, Bingo! Here you are in southwest Florida. I hope these flowers and your extra reward will put a smile on your beautiful face. Love, The Tooth Fairy.” My daughter-in-law laughed and said it was a great idea. My husband and son thought I was crazy. It was worth a shot. I tucked a $5.00 bill in an envelope (a bit larger than normal since the tooth fairy made Steph wait so long), put the flowers in a pretty blue vase, tied a ribbon around the vase, then leaned the envelope with her name printed on the front against the glass vessel with the flowers. Then I quietly exited the bedroom with my fingers crossed. The following morning, we heard, “MOM, MOM! Come look!” Again, we raced in the direction of her bedroom. She was holding her envelope and said, “The tooth fairy found me! She left me money and flowers! My tooth that I put under my pillow is gone! Mom, she found me! I don't know how she did it, but she found me.” My daughter-in-law looked at me and we shared a secret smile. My son and husband, looked at each other and I heard my son say, “Well, I'll be damned!” What might have been a sad week for my granddaughter's vacation, turned out to be a happy surprise and a moment to remember! Yes, what a moment and what a memory! Thanks to the tooth fairy and a supermarket that didn't close early.

Mom was only fifteen when she met my dad – to be more specific, when she first saw him. He was doubled over gasping for air, lying in the street when she saw a crowd huddled over something. She walked over to see what the fuss was about and saw what she described as the handsomest boy she'd ever seen. Dad's hair was dark-blond, and his eyes were milk chocolate brown. Her heart melted as she watched him struggle to catch his breath. He had been playing hockey with his friends and his stick hit a slightly raised manhole cover, got stuck, and as he tried to skate by, jammed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him causing him to curl into a ball and lie on the ground. Mom cried out, “Don't let him lie in the street. He'll get hit by a car. Carry him to the sidewalk.” Dad's friends first looked at mom like she'd lost her mind but then realized she made her point. The carried dad the few feet to safety. She wouldn't leave his side as his breath began to normalize. Mom held his hand and talked almost non-stop to help him relax. It worked. His breath steadied and soon, he asked, “What's your name and where do you live?” Mom smiled. “Mary and actually, just around the corner.” Dad walked her home and asked if she'd like to hang out with him and his friends later that night. “We're only going to the candy store for some soda; it's nothing special.” To mom, it was more than special. He didn't have to ask her twice. As I said, mom was 15. Dad was 14 but neither cared. They were inseparable as the years passed. Dad eventually joined the Navy and when home on leave, married mom. To say they were happy is a mild statement. Dad was mom's world and dad idolized mom. Their love was obvious to anyone who saw them look at each other. One day, tragedy struck. A few days before dad's 65th birthday, he had a stroke which paralyzed his left side. With therapy, he gained the use of his legs, but his left arm remained useless. That didn't stop them from enjoying their lives together. With a modified steering wheel, he was once again able to drive and took mom on many vacations which included Montauk NY, Virginia Beach VA, and Baltimore MD. When dad turned 71, he stumbled and fell. It was determined that he experienced a TIA – mini stroke. While dad lay in the hospital, an astute nurse noticed something with dad that wasn't quite right. She prompted the doctor to order a few tests. The diagnosis was stage 4 colon cancer. The doctor told mom that dad had about 8 months to live. We were horrified. Trying to extend dad's life, we agreed to an ileostomy but when it was performed, it proved fruitless. Dad died six weeks after that procedure. Mom was devastated. Not too many years later, I noticed mom began forgetting things. It was subtle but the signs were there. She repeated herself a little too often; she'd forget where she put her purse; she'd call me two or three times a day but never remembered why, etc. Eventually, mom moved in with me. Her dementia was much worse but still tolerable. She could hold small conversations and create full sentences. One day as mom and I reminisced, I asked her to tell me something about dad. She looked horrified as she asked, “I was married?” How could she have forgotten dad? Did she know me? I asked her who I was and answered correctly. That was a relief, so I backtracked to help her remember dad. “Mom, do you remember that handsome young sailor from years ago?” Within seconds, her eyes glowed with love and remembrance. “Oh, yes, my Frankie!” “Mom, he was your husband.” She sat there for a few silent minutes then in a soft voice said, “That's right. I married my Frankie. My sailor. How I cried when he got sick and died.” That was the last full sentence mom said. The dementia took hold in a big way. Mom died not long after. I was reminded of an old Buck Owens song, “Together Again”. Thank you, Buck Owens for writing and performing a song that has become so very dear to me as I think of my parents holding hands and walking forever side by side. For my mom's funeral, I printed a photo of my parents the last time they were together and modified Owens' song to read: Together again her tears have stopped falling; Her long lonely nights are now at an end. The key to her heart he held in his hands And nothing else matters they're together again Together again her gray skies are gone; She's back in his arms now where she belongs. The love that they knew is living again, And nothing else matters they're together again.

You never know how things will turn out or how they might affect your life when they do. My husband was one of nine children. While growing up, they were a very close-knit group of siblings. Once marriage and children began taking each away from the group, the relationships became somewhat distant. Several moved to other states, some were too busy raising their own children. Others, like my husband, were not telephone people. If someone called him, that would be fine, but he was not the kind to make the call. He still is not. All too often, one sibling would call the rest and relay any news but often, just to keep us all in touch. Through the years, as life demands, we all aged and, the siblings began to succumb to illness: one was by heart attack, another by complication of rheumatoid arthritis, still there was that dreaded cancer. Jerry left us a few years ago leaving behind two sisters and two brothers, one of which is my husband, Richard. When I married into the family, I was never treated as an in-law. I was treated with the same love, warmth, and respect as they treated each other but then, none of the in-laws were treated as outsiders. The family was always that close, even as the miles pushed us apart. As I said, Jerry left us a few years ago. When I met him, he was tall, husky (not fat just, well, husky), jovial, and loving. He lived in New York; we were and still are in Florida. While we did not see each other often, there were the monthly phone calls. Then the calls began to change. Jerry was diagnosed with cancer and it did not look good. His doctor said he might live six years, six months, six days. His cancer was aggressive. Jerry lived fourteen months. His son called a few days before he died, and I advised my husband to fly to New York. I was taking care of my invalid mom who lived with us and could not make the trip with him. Jerry died while my husband was there. It was almost as if he waited for his brother for a final goodbye. A few days later, my husband called and said he was on his way home and gave me his flight information. When I picked him up at the airport, he was toting a very, large box – one he did not have when he left. Jerry's urn? It was one of Jerry's requests that he be buried in the Gulf of Mexico, a place he dearly loved to visit, which he did as often as possible. The following day, Rich called his friend who had a gulf-worthy boat; ours was only for shallow water. John was eager to volunteer his assistance in this sad undertaking and said he would be honored to take my husband to bury his brother. The sea-burial was set for the following day. When Rich arrived at John's house with Jerry's ashes, John handed Rich a dozen long-stemmed, white roses. “You can't send him off with nothing. Hope these'll do,” John said. They were better than, “they'll do”. About two weeks later, we received a large package, delivered by UPS. It was a beautiful painting of a small row of houses set on the water. With it was a note from Jerry's children (all five adults) saying, “Dad never told anyone that his hobby was painting. He was always afraid of criticism. Going through his paintings, we found this one and we knew, since you live on the water and love to fish, he would want you to have it. Please accept this from dad and all of us in gratitude for everything you did for him and us while you were here. We all love you.” Each of his children signed the card. They could have kept the painting to remember their dad but chose, what, to others might have seemed a simple gesture of thanks, was, to my husband, a world of love. The painting hangs prominently on the wall in our dining room for everyone to see. It is just a simple reminder of the love between two brothers and the closeness they, with their other siblings shared throughout the years. While I was not able to attend the sea-burial, John was kind and compassionate enough to take a photograph for me. I did at the beginning of my marriage and probably will always feel, even after all this time, that being part of the Brennan family is something to be cherished, never taken for granted. We still have my husband, one brother, Bill, two sisters, Pat, and Joan. Phone calls are now more frequent and finally, finally after all this time, my husband (after slight encouragement from me) will pick up the phone and make those calls. We only live once and should vow to remain close to our siblings. You just never know how things might turn out and those we love will be taken from us affecting us in ways we cannot even at time imagine. So, my dear friend and brother, Jerry, until we meet again, even after these passing years, we still have your painting, the photograph, and loving memories of the wonderful person you were, a loving and caring man. Not a day passes that we do not think of you with love and affection.

I was the perfect child. Even as a baby I rarely cried or fussed. I stayed asleep during the nights and rarely threw tantrums. I always followed directions and was never the type to jump and run around. In public I would sit by my mother's side, dressed up in white and pink with my hands in my lap. Many of my family members would compliment my parents about how well behaved and quiet I was. Of how lucky they were to have such an easygoing child. But even with my mellow personality, my childhood was not without near death experiences. I almost choked on a penny once. Another time my mom found me sticking my dad's razor into my mouth like a lollipop. Somehow I had managed to climb up the cupboards and was attempting to mimic seeing my dad shave. I still have the scar on my lower lip from that incident. A reminder of one of my many instances of mischievousness. My parents tried their best to make a childproof home. But I had the knack for bypassing their safeguards. One of my favorite spots to play in was the cupboard under the sink. I liked to used the cleaning product containers as dolls. My dad installed two locks on that door in order to prevent me from going inside but I eventually figured out how to unlock them. Apparently I had a knack for undoing locks as well. My parents would scold me of course, but I would just giggle and smile at them in response. Even after more than two decades my parents still talk about how they remembered those days. I have two younger siblings and we constantly prank each other. And while they were much more energetic and impulsive in their younger years, my own sense of mischievousness never lessened. And while I was the perfect child, I was still a child nonetheless.

There are few places in this world that one can truly call magical. Places that seem to transcend space and time, existing entirely within themselves. I can with unshakable confidence categorize Nantucket Island as one of these places. No matter how many times I visit, it always feels like the first, with the island never failing to invoke the sense of being transported to another world. It's unique ambiance making all the stresses of my every day somehow seem nonexistent. As if the only thing in existence is the island and the ocean holding it in its embrace. The experience begins with the boat ride to the island, salty breeze forming impossible tangles in my hair and whipping against my skin with a damp stickiness. The first step off the boat onto a cobblestone street, filled with people from any place in the world you can dream of, is an unparalleled experience. Overwhelmed as the din of thousands of people buzz in and out of the surplus of shops lining narrow streets, each person moving as though they expect the world to part for them. The bustling streets of the town slowly give way to long scenic roads that span across the island. No longer surrounded by the compact buzzing atmosphere, spacious flat fields spread out on either side of the car. Lavish houses worth millions pepper the landscape, only to be abandoned the second the first leave turns orange. Sitting grey and vacant until the heat of summer returns next year. We drive further though, beyond these luxurious estates, turning onto a small road that leads to a quaint community of houses, home to the families that live year-round on the island. People who take the island in its entirety, truly able to call Nantucket their home. The house I stay in is tightly packed next to several others, sharing the same small backyard. Children gather to play in the snug space, whooping and running through the yard. Excited legs pumping and chubby hands grasping at each other in the throws of whatever game had caught their attention. The neighbor's dog yipping excitedly at their heels before losing interest and boisterously pushing through our screen door with urgent expectancy. Pawing around for the treats my sister often gave him. Away from the fancy poster of Nantucket that brought so many to vacation on the island, these small moments hold the most wonder for me. Down the street near our house lay the turtle docks. The rickety T shaped formation of old grey wood jutting out into the reed-filled water. Children crowd over the side of the dock in wide-eyed fascination as they lower raw chicken tied to pieces of long twine into the muddy water. A combination of sharp claws and teeth shred the meat in a flurry. Huge snapping turtles are pulled above water as they stubbornly cling to their catch, dangling on the string in full display. Delighted squeals bubble in the air as children gasp in exhilaration at the captivating animals. Leaning over the docks laughing and shouting as the fight for a half-eaten chicken bone intensifies. Attention rapidly shifting from one thing to another, desperately trying to follow the wild activity beneath the water's surface. Having my fill of excitement, I continue on. At the end of the street, a familiar sandy path opens up through thick bushes. Climbing the long winding beach path, up and down the dips in the sandy trail, through low hanging dappled trees, and into a clearing filled with golden grass mimicking the ocean's soft ebbing waves as the wind trickles through it. Suddenly the thin trail opens up into a dauntingly steep dune. Scorching sand scolds sandal-clad feet as I struggle to ascend the ever-shifting hill of fine pale sand. Finally, at the apex, I'm met with blue, the most magnificent and all-encompassing blue I've ever seen. The unapologetic sky distinguishable from the sparkling waters only by the infinitely present horizon. Days spent lounging in the sunbaked sand, surrounded by people of similar dispositions, content to simply exist. Eyes closed, the sun's molten warmth soaking into muscles. A gentle breeze rolling across reclined bodies and tickling exposed skin as we sink into the heated sand with a sigh. Breaths become deeper and slower still, being lulled into a slumber like trance by the gentle rhythmic whoosh of waves beating a soft lullaby. I find myself being pulled back to the island each summer to walk the same sandy path and enjoy the excitement of the turtle docks, wanting to experience all the things that make up Nantucket again and again. From the bustling rudeness of people accustomed to having the world at their feet to the earnest families whose very souls are a part of the island. Every single aspect of Nantucket supports this all-encompassing magnetic atmosphere. No matter how many times I experience it, that first step onto that warm cobblestone street brings me back to the very first time, the moment I became hopelessly enraptured.

Every few weeks, many of my friends and I get together for lunch. It's been a habit of ours for several years. When my mom moved in with us, I decided to include her in these activities. Mom soon became a favorite member of our group and the women looked forward to hearing her tales of things past, her times in America when she was little and emigrated with her mother from England, but mostly, the antics of her middle child – me! My friends vied for the opportunity to sit next to mom and encourage her speak her memories. Mom always obliged. Knowing mom was nearly blind due to severe age-related macular degeneration, our lunch group made sure mom received all the care and attention she needed. One luncheon started during a beautiful, sunny morning. We met at the restaurant just around 11:30am. However, by the time we were getting ready to leave, the heavens opened, and a torrent of rain was pouring down. We debated trying to make a run for our cars or waiting out the quick-moving Florida rain. Looking at mom, we took into consideration since she was wheelchair bound racing her through the rain wasn't something advisable. The decision was made. We'd stay a bit longer and order dessert, something we dieters rarely do. That day, we'd make an exception. As we looked at the dessert menus, I asked mom what she'd like. Without hesitation, she said, “I'd love a big piece of Strawberry Shortcake!” When the waitress arrived to take our latest orders, I asked for the strawberry shortcake but with two forks.” I had to at pretend to watch my calories! Our orders started arriving at our table and everyone oohed and aahed at each plate. The waitress placed the strawberry shortcake in front of mom. She squinted at it trying desperately to see it and then asked what it was. “Mom, it's the strawberry shortcake you said you wanted” Mom looked perplexed and in a loud voice said, “Why on earth did you listen to me? I was only joking. I don't even like strawberry shortcake!” I ordered a slice of apple pie for mom and I ate the strawberry shortcake. But despite the extra and unneeded calorie intake, we all had a great time and hearty laugh at mom's sense of humor. Yes, mom ate all her apple pie and asked if we could make one once we arrived home. “Mom, you are joking, right?” I really had no idea. Then, in front of the entire group of women added another of her zingers: “Of, course I am” she said, “Everyone knows you can't bake applies pies! You always manage to mess them up. We'll just stop at the supermarket and pick one up for later.” Now, all these years later, whenever I see a piece of strawberry shortcake, it reminds me of mom and the day she ordered hers.

26 years later, when I look back in life; I remember my first favorite teacher asking me one summer afternoon in class, "What do you want to be when you grow up, young man?". I pointed out of the window, to the blazing sun outside, "I want to fly to the sun and ask her to cool down a bit", I said. "How do you know the sun is a girl?", she seemed intrigued; "Because she always looks angry, just like my mother", my response was followed by a ring of laughter as miss favorite pulled my cheek, gave me a smile and said "Always aim for the sky, my little firefly!" That afternoon after lunch, my stomach full to the brink, my mind half numb, I gazed at the sun. My body felt light and I began to rise. A sparrow came by, chirped me a "Hi!" and I began to fly. I followed it's trail and began to rise, the sun blazing down, came nearer. The houses became smaller, the birds became fewer and I kept on rising till my eyes went yellow, the heat too much and I touched the sun. The Sun was angry, she had no friends, she had no love. I shook her hand, gave her a smile and promised her I will be back in a while. "Hey you boy, where are you looking?", just then I heard madam crazy-eye shout and remembered I was dreaming in class. 26 years later, when I look at my life, I see my fancy clothes, I see my new home, a new laptop in-front of me, I realize I am someone but Someone I have become but not who I wanted to be. I am no longer a firefly, my legs firmly grounded. I work a thousand hours a day with no life anywhere to be founded. I have made a lot of friends though, weird, crazy and fun, but none of them have the yellow and the glare of my favorite, "SUN!". When I look at the Sun now, she gives back an angry stare; I give her back a smile but she no longer cares!

THE LAST FIVE YEARS For thirteen years, my husband and myself asked my widowed mom to move in with us. We knew she'd love our cozy Florida home. Mom always declined mentioning her many reasons. One reason always exasperated me. “You father is in every room of this house. He built the kitchen cabinets; he rewired most of the rooms; he put in the half bath in the basement. He's done so much. How can I leave it all behind?” I always replied, “Mom, if your house was destroyed by fire, would you forget dad?” “Never!” she'd reply adamantly, “He's in my heart.” However, she would still obstinately, refuse our offer adding, “I'll leave my house when they take me out feet first!” We visited her as often as our pensions allowed which came down to twice a year. Mom would fly down to see us once a year, that is until her health began to fail. In 2005, she was diagnosed with macular degeneration. It would be matter of time until her sight was gone completely. Walking was now an issue. Mom had a wonderful neighbor who would take her to church every week and together, they'd go to dinner following the religious service. Dianne would take mom grocery shopping and help her pay her bills. Yet, despite needing this help, mom wouldn't move. Her reasons began to change. “I won't be a burden to my children.” To which I'd add, “So, it's ok to be a burden to your neighbor?” Then the unthinkable happened. It was 2011 and we were visiting mom for Christmas. My husband was finishing up a few repairs in the basement and I was tidying up the dining room. Mom said she needed to use the bathroom but decided since my husband was working on the one in the basement, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. As she approached the stairs to descend, she missed a step and in a small ball, bounced on every step on her way down where her head hit the newel post. There was blood everywhere and she couldn't move without severe pain. I dialed 9-1-1. The EMTs loaded mom in the ambulance and allowed me to ride with them. My husband followed in our car. Mom was not just lucky that day, she was blessed. Her only injuries were a laceration in the back of her head that required 7 staples, a broken foot, and a few other bruises. It could have been worse, much worse. My husband and I discussed the latest situation and agreed that now was the time to bring mom home. She no longer could live alone and with or without her consent, she was coming home with us. The problem we now faced was that she could not be able to tolerate a two-day drive to Florida. We decided that my husband would leave within two days for Florida and I would stay with mom until she was stable enough for a plane ride. Ten days later, we received the confirmation from her doctor that, yes, she was now stable enough for the trip. I called the airline and made our one-way reservations. Then I called my husband and gave him our flight information. My son and his wife spent every day with mom and me helping me take care of mom and beginning the task of clearing out her personal possessions. We packed her necessities and my son agreed to have them shipped to Florida. My son and his wife bought a transport-wheelchair which would make things easier for both of us. When the time came, we helped mom into the wheelchair. My son and a few of mom's neighbors carried her and her new wheelchair out of her house – feet first! I told her she got her wish. It wasn't until mom began living with us that I noticed her memory wasn't the same as it had been. I took her to the doctor and had her tested. The diagnosis was the onset of dementia. Mom lived with us for just over five years, losing her memory with each passing day. Another thing I found was a lump on mom's back. Should I have had it scanned? Mom was 90-years old. My doctor and I discussed the issue and decided we'd leave it alone. Mom's memory grew increasingly worse and by 2016, her communication was gone. She could hear us but couldn't respond. We read magazines, books, the newspaper. We'd turn on the TV to a science channel. She loved science and thought she'd enjoy it. I still gave her a pedicure each week and bathed her every other day. I often wonder if she every really knew. I hope so. Then, in October of 2016, the lump in her back ruptured internally causing sepsis to ravage her body. Mom died 2 days later. While it's been very hard emotionally on me, I try to find comfort in believing that she's no longer in pain, her memory is back and somewhere in Heaven she's once again, dancing with my dad. At least I know that the last five years of her life, she wasn't alone. She had company every day. For a while, she laughed and enjoyed life in Florida. She even once said, “Why did I wait so long?” While it still saddens me to not have her with me, I will always cherish the time we had together. In my heart, I know she did too.