Trish St.Hill

Together in the end side by side. My parents’ marriage was a story of true love, a saga enriched by shared experiences, laughter, and occasional challenges that only deepened their bond. I have always said their love was a textbook study of true, healthy love, a rare gem that shone brightly in a world often filled with fleeting connections. They disagreed without being disagreeable, engaging in thoughtful discussions that showcased their mutual respect and understanding. As parents, they parented with one voice, able to navigate the complexities of raising 14 children with remarkable unity, and they never went to bed without each other, always cherishing those quiet moments of connection at the day’s end. I would always joke that that was the reason for them having 14 children, attributing their large family to their unwavering affection and commitment to each other. I visited their graves in Troumaca, St.Vincent last Tuesday with a melancholy spirit, the weight of nostalgia heavy upon me. Before heading to their gravesite, I picked them flowers from their yard in Barrouallie and made two small bouquets, longing to take a piece of the homestead to them, a reminder of the love that flourished there. When I arrived at their graves, it brought me great peace seeing them side by side, united even in eternity, a powerful symbol of their enduring love. Thanks to my cousin who always weeds their graves and places candles on them, ensuring that their resting place remains a testament to the love they shared. We spent 15 minutes plucking a few pieces of grass from their graves and talking to them, sharing stories and memories that felt alive in the air around us. It may seem strange to some, but I felt compelled to let them know I was okay, to share the milestones of my life since they departed. I brought my grandson Amir to visit his great-granny, a remarkable woman who loved him beyond words and cherished every moment spent with him. It was a heartfelt occasion as I introduced him to my father in spirit, a man he never had the pleasure of meeting but who undoubtedly lives on in our shared memories. Additionally, my grandson got to see where his great-great-grandmother, Eugenia Charles, was buried, a connection to our family’s past that I explained to him in detail. As I shared stories about his ancestors, including how my father was laid to rest in his mother’s tomb, Amir listened intently, his eyes wide with awe. What a day of family history it was, filled with laughter, tears, and a profound sense of belonging as I reminisced about the joys and challenges they faced. I thank both my parents for giving me life, for being my greatest supporters against the world, and for instilling in me the unwavering values of love, compassion, and resilience that guide me every day. May their souls continue to R.I.P. side by side, their legacy of love echoing through the generations they left behind, inspiring us to carry forward the principles that unite us as a family.