Most of this trip was about family and celebrating the life of my Aunt Dot. When her service was planned for October 14 in Harrisonburg, VA, I knew I wanted to be there, representing my mom, who’s 96 and couldn’t travel, and our family. I was surprised at how committed I was to making that happen.
I connected with my cousin Kelly, who lives in Falls Church, VA, and stayed a night with her and her girls. Kelly also drove down to Harrisonburg with me, and it was wonderful to reconnect with her and, through her, with Joyce and Larry.
Driving down, I took the exit to Woodstock, VA—where I had the best memories of Aunt Dot, Uncle Dan, and my cousins. In Harrisonburg, I took an exit that led me right past my grandparents’ old home. I stopped for a moment, just long enough to take a picture and remember.
The service was at St. Stephen’s, surrounded by family—cousins, grandnieces, and grandnephews. It was so rich to reconnect in person after so many years. We’ve kept in touch over the past year through what we call the “Arey Facetime” call, started to connect the siblings—Dot, Don, Larry, and my mom, Bernie. I wasn’t a regular, but I really appreciated my cousin Erick’s effort to keep it going.
The service reminded me of Aunt Dot’s generous spirit and her lifelong commitment to helping people. I hadn’t been to a formal church service in quite some time, so the hymns, prayers, and homily felt nostalgic. The best part, though, was Forest, who’s about 9, rolling a matchbox truck across the pews. It warmed my heart—I remember doing the exact same thing at his age. I loved how warmly everyone received him.
The after-gathering was meant to be a bonfire and pizza, but the real surprise came when I wandered off track and found Kline’s Ice Cream—my father’s favorite. There’s a story behind that because he once requested that his ashes be put there. Naturally, I grabbed a couple of pints to bring to the gathering.
And it wasn’t just pizza. These were homemade pizzas, with hand-picked ingredients, cooked in the cutest little wood-fired oven. They were incredible. The bonfire, too, was perfect. We shared stories, and the evening felt rich with connection.
The next morning, a few of us gathered for breakfast before heading out. For me, the next stop was Charlottesville, where I went to college. I picked up some UVA gear and took a long, nostalgic walk down memory lane. I even visited Crozet, where I’d once lived on a friend’s front porch one summer. I loved finding that spot again.I didn’t linger long, though. I decided to head toward Richmond, not quite sure why.
As I got closer, traffic made me rethink my plans, so I veered toward Mechanicsville. Something urged me to check out Camp Hanover and reclaim that place too.
I did. And seeing those familiar spots felt like coming home, but this time, home was within me. Fear feels like a stranger now.
After that, I found a cozy hotel in Fredericksburg, where I’m writing this. No memories here—just a soft bed, morning coffee, and donuts. It’s the perfect place to reflect and let the stories of this trip settle in.
Sometimes, it’s sweet and important to rewrite the stories.