Traditions that bond us

When the extended Hills family gathered at our lake houses in 2016, I’m not sure anyone knew we were starting a tradition. I don’t even remember if our aim was every other year or if we even talked about future plans. I know for sure, we had no idea all the changes that would accompany our family in the years we continued to gather. 

If my pictures are telling me an accurate story, the Hills have gathered together at Shelter Point Retreat for Memorial Day weekend in 2016, 2018, 2021, and 2023, then for Labor Day weekend this year. We already have Labor Day 2026 on our calendars! 

Here’s the origin story: Two brothers, one sister. My dad was the baby brother and fit many of those stereotypes. The oldest brother, my Uncle Tom, is 10 years older than my dad would be had he not passed away unexpectedly in 2019. Tom is 85 now and the patriarch of the family. My grandpa Max, their dad, offered some of us $500 if we’d name one of our kids Max. Nobody did. And that’s about all I’m going to share about him right now. 

Those who gathered this year were Tom & Carolyn, the remaining Hill siblings; my mom, who married into this part of the family; Tom’s daughter, Mary, and three of her kids; my brother, Kevin, along with his girlfriend, Kelly, and high school son, Jax; my sister, Cassie, with her husband, Zac, and three kids; Carolyn’s son, Matt, with his wife, Jenn, and their two kids; and my family of five. That’s 24 people, and we were just missing Mary’s sister, Ginny, along with her husband and daughter; Mary’s husband, Kyle, and their youngest child; and my college niece, Milla. 

Yes, we are bonded by this tradition, but also by so many other things that came before and have happened since. There’s been a complicated grief that rippled into light so many secrets when my dad, their brother and uncle, died in 2019. My sweet cousin friend Mary has moved her mom into a memory care unit and, more recently, her dad into an assisted living facility. My dear aunt lost a daughter to cancer way too early, and then her husband suffered from Parkinson’s and passed away. We’ve experienced the divorce of loved ones, welcomed new people, and the anticipation of graduations and new seasons. 

As hard as the grief was after my dad died, this tradition has helped me heal, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one. Like any family, we overstep sometimes, go silent sometimes, and are always glad to gather together anyway. This lake tradition has become a gift of conversation, laughter, and memories to usher us into whatever else God has for us, as a great big family and smaller families. 

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