amelia carolyn

sunset on the beach

Three years ago today, members of my extended family, from all corners of the world, gathered in the sunroom for cocktail hour. For years this had been an evening ritual for my grandmother. Manhattans at 5:00 with cheese and crackers. It didn’t matter if there was company, but it sure made her energy shine when there was a roomful of family and friends around her.

She was 95, with an alertness and level of engagement that I aspire to match in myself. She and my grandfather were fortunate enough to have found a wonderful house on the beach in the 50s—with the foresight to retire there in the 60s. Myself, my cousins and extended family spent many summers at the beach house coming of age, becoming friends with our families and growing up (into adolescence; into adulthood; into middle age).

It was fitting that Grandma was surrounded by so much of her family that evening. None of us lived close… some had come for the week or weekend from as far away as the Czech Republic. We were there, as we always were: to relax and hang out at the beach with family and drink a few manhattans along the way.

So it came as a complete surprise and shock that the next morning would be my Grandmother’s last. She woke with some pain, went into the hospital and left this world, with her family surrounding her, that night.

Tonight, as I’ve done for the past two years, I gather those close to me, mix a round of manhattans, and raise a glass in honor of a woman full of elegance, spirit and grace; a woman who stayed young and active throughout her 95 years; and for whom the door to her home was always open and an ear was always available for debate, conversation and advice. Grandma, you continue to inspire me, support me and encourage me to expand and live my life to my fullest potential. I love you and I miss you.

Cheers.