Sunday

M, J, A, E, and I piled into the car, shoulder to shoulder, a little cramped but content enough to laugh it off. Mom stayed behind to rest; she had an early shift the next morning. We skipped breakfast to hit the road by seven, the drive to Doylestown stretching only a couple of hours ahead–our empty stomachs eagerly awaiting hearty fare from the Polish-American Country Fair and Festival in Pennsylvania. What we talked about blurs now into the usual threads, but the memory isn’t in the words—it’s in the warmth of being together. Families aren’t endless; you get only one, and with that in mind I try to hold mine close.