The best times were undoubtedly when we went on holiday in later years. I was the last child left at home in my late teens and so was still included in their holidays. Dad was an expert organiser, although we only realised after many years that he often didn't book accommodation until he saw a place he fancied, so we were sometimes only hours from sleeping on the street! That never happened, and we only stayed in the best of places - not expensive hotels, but delightful B&Bs or smaller inns, where fellow travellers were interesting and always ready to engage in conversation. We never sat alone in a corner like wilting wallflowers.
In even later years, the last 10 or so, I took to accompanying them on overseas trips, ostensibly to carry their bags, but really to make sure I spent quality time with them before it ran out. They loved to travel and had long got past the visiting of museums, cathedrals, etc., as we had been dragged through all of those in the 60s when we lived in England - been there, got the t-shirt. So they were very low-key, coffee on the sidewalk kind of holidays, and an absolute delight. Nothing can replace the time spent with these very special people.
Mom was never a good traveller. She was frequently ill but never let us know how bad she was feeling, except once after a trip to Ronda, where the long and winding road affected her so badly she took straight to her bed - but always insisting that nobody was to be concerned and she was very happy to just be alone while we went out for dinner. That was one of her greatest talents - always putting others before her and never being a burden. Talent is not the word I am looking for here, but she might have used it.
Rest peacefully as you watch over us, Mom. Your favourite flowers.
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