13 years ago my dad picked me up from my college apartment in Santa Barbara and we headed off, my younger brother in the back seat, to Lake Nacimiento.

My dad and I really hadn't spoken to each other in two years. He had done some jerk things and i, being 18 at the time, wrote him off.
But a counselor had asked me if my dad and I had any common recreational hobbies. Uh...yeah...camping, boating, lakes, etc. So the trip to Naci was planned.
The car ride was awkward but after a few minutes on the water, it all seemed normal.
Then my dad being my dad had heard about this other lake...Lake San Antonio. You could get there from Naci by way of a windy back road. We pulled the boat out and off we went.
We arrived at San Anton, and after my dad caught glimpse of the numerous trees and un-rough waters (even in the afternoon) he was hooked.
And so for 13 years we have gone on a family vacation (all siblings and husbands, one by one, and grandkids, one by one, my dad, Judy and a plethora of other fireman families) to Lake San Antonio.
My dad was the glue for our trip...the driving force. His trailer was home base. His presence was comfort.
This year we return minus my dad and minus Judy. We head up to this trip with what I can only describe as an orphan feeling.
There is nothing normal about this trip. And yet we plunge into the unknown with the hopes the carving the way toward a new normal.

"Each new day forces one to face some new and devastating dimension of the loss. It creates a whole new context for one's life."

Sent from my phone.