I still mother them….

There are certain people in your life who become your landing place.

The week after Gab was hard. The kind of hard that settles into your bones. My phone buzzed, and there was a voicemail from my big brother. He talked me through the day the way only he can, but the word that always stays with me is the same one he always says.

“Breath.”

Yep… “breath,” not “breathe.” It’s our thing.

It’s his reminder to slow down when my brain is going a hundred miles an hour. When I’ve taken on too much. When grief and life seem to collide all at once.

I’ve listened to that voicemail more times than I can count.

We didn’t grow up together. Life had other plans. But somehow, life found its way back to us. The older we get, the more I realize we’re wired a lot alike. We both have that drive. That need to keep creating, helping, fixing, and dreaming up what’s next. He gets me because he’s a lot like me.

Every time I step off the plane in California, I’m home.

I’ve been coming here since I was 17. My kids grew up making memories here. Gianna has spent summers here on her own with my niece and her cousins. They’ve explored this place together year after year. This summer, I got to bring Adriano. Watching him experience places that have meant so much to our family for decades has been one of the greatest gifts.

And then there’s Jude.

She is, without question, the best thing my brother ever did.

I truly can’t imagine my life without her. She’s my keeper of secrets, my safe place, and one of the very few people I can tell absolutely anything. She never judges. Never makes me feel like I’m too much. She listens, loves, laughs, and somehow always knows exactly what I need.

That’s a rare kind of person.

This trip has reminded me that family isn’t always about who you grew up with. Sometimes it’s about who chooses you over and over again. Who answers the phone. Who leaves a voicemail you replay because hearing their voice settles your heart. Who opens their home like it’s always been yours.

California has given me incredible memories over the years. This week, it gave me something even bigger. It reminded me that while grief has changed so much, it hasn’t changed how deeply I’m loved.

Some people are your soft place to land.

Mine have been waiting for me here since I was 17. And now, watching another generation fall in love with this place, I realize just how lucky I am.