Staying in Atlanta 11 years ago when my father passed away wasn’t a huge decision for me, it was one that made itself.  My mother had been gone for years, my siblings had their own lives and my new step mother had her own life to recreate.

I was on my own.

Being on the other side of the country from my siblings has its advantages – we’ve learned to appreciate and miss each other and we come to realize when we’re in close quarters for more than a few days that if we lived any closer we probably wouldn’t be on speaking terms.

It’s a lovely evolution and a decent balance, given our options with regard to the miles, our sensitivity towards the time we do have together is heightened and the respect we’ve been able to gain for each other is boundless.

It’s fitting then, that this week when I seem to be struggling more than normal, my sister would send a care package for my housewarming: an amazing and beautiful sea foam green Sari, sparkly dots for body décor and a note cheering me on.

It’s fitting too, that The Uncle Danny would make a surprise pit-stop in Hotlanta on the way from Kentucky back to his home in Florida.  The Uncle Danny is my fathers baby brother, the only one of the sibling set without an accent, and my God Father. As my brother Kevin is always quick to note at family gatherings, “I forget how much he looks like dad.”

It’s true.  The perfectly round crystal blue eyes, the prematurely white hair, and the little bulb on the end of his nose that only my brother Brian inherited.

It’s odd how family seems to know via some sort of immeasurable undetectable bond when they’re needed most.

(I have a hard time making a straight face when there’s a camera involved)