I am in a place called Folly Beach.
I know this area well because my Mum was born up the road from here and she introduced all of us, including her future husband (yes, my Dad) to what it means to know about being here.
The seven of us came here every time we were in South Carolina. More so, my brother Drew and his wife have stayed here multiple times in the past few years. And I was last here with my Mum and nephew on a small road trip we took a few years back. Prior to, I visited with my parents and happily walked down their memory lane as they hosted their “where we lived and when we met” tour guide of the city and Folly.
Because of this, Folly Beach is a mystical place. A magical place. A mediative place.
Now three of my brothers and I have rented a large oceanfront house here on Folly Beach for Thanksgiving. Fred arrived yesterday and Irish Twin, Drew and Reba prepared a meal suited for a Washington Post food critic fine dining review. Tomorrow, we will honour our Mum’s wish, and return her back to her beloved Charleston, back to Folly Beach. Back here.
It’s very touching. It’s very moving. It’s very sad. It’s also an incredibly personal thing that we are doing. And by incredibly I mean even to be sharing with siblings.
I’m here to be a part of it all, and celebrate someone I am missing more than I knew possible. But, man, am I fighting an uphill battle squashing at least once an hour the urge to pack up my Jeep and drive away from here.
Happy Friday.