Growing up, I've been incredibly fortunate to be able to call two places home: my residence in Mississauga and our cherished home-away-from-home an hour away from the city - a houseboat docked at a small half-acre island.
The island has been in our family since my mom was six years old. My parents transformed it from a mere rock into a fun and beautiful oasis that we eagerly escape to every weekend from Victoria Day to Labour Day.
As the traditional opening weekend for the island - May 2-4 - approached each year, Mom's excitement and enthusiasm would radiate as she began her packing process. At the first hint of spring-like weather, whether it arrived in March or even February, she would eagerly pull out the "up-north" bins, lay them out on the dining room table, and embark on her organizational frenzy.
I used to tease Mom for starting to pack in the middle of winter, but hindsight has shown me the huge amount of effort required to prepare for our seasonal getaway. Mom's organizational skills were truly remarkable, a fact I didn't fully grasp until after she passed away.
This past weekend, we reopened the island. It was chaotic, but together as a family, we got it done. Despite feeling Mom's absence so greatly, I also can't help but feel Mom's presence. I know that she would be proud of us for going, for upholding our traditions, and for continuing to love and care for her favourite place on Earth.
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