I lost memories. Buried deep inside my inner capsule that contained these memories were images of a trip. I did not only lose my ability to relive the experience, but I also lost the picture of my distant family. I was drowning in these images until my grandma ran across a picture on accident.

“Family is everything,” my she told me while looking at the picture.

***

It was July 16, 2007, I can recall the date and just a few minor details, but nothing more. My family stood on a cruise ship waiting to arrive in Italy. My grandma was practically shaking from excitement because we were about to see where she grew up. My close family and I all lined up in a single file line behind my grandma, patiently waiting to hear the history lessons she was about to deliver on every building we were going to pass. I stood there pondering why my parents took me, a five-year-old, to Italy to learn about history, the last thing I wanted to listen to while the sun was shining and the ocean was cool. Being so young and so bored, I practically slowed my family down the whole day, but no one seemed to mind.

The day passed by gradually. I had spent an endless amount of hours trudging along behind my parents because I just wanted to sleep. When darkness arrived and all that was left was the moon, it was finally time to rest. Normally, we would stay at a hotel, one where everyone would have enough room and we could sleep before another day of walking, but this trip was different. I quickly came to realize how different it was after we arrived at a small house with flowers—pink, purple, yellow—drowning each inch of the yard that wasn’t covered in grass, with a large Italian family greeting us.

When we were able to make out the people standing in front of our destination, my grandma sprinted as fast as she could to the family leaving the rest of us in the dust. I laughed at the sight of the petite woman flying through the dirt to meet a house that was just her size. She was welcomed with hugs, kisses, and a gift. I remember being so confused as to why the people were hugging my grandma and treating her like family. When my mom and I reached the people we were welcomed the same way—a hug, a kiss, a gift— and then my grandma told us who the people were. Family.

After the shock died down I began to feel at home, as did everyone else. I quickly made friends with the kids there because there was no reason for me to sit and listen to my mom talk to the one relative that could somewhat speak English. I had forced her to drag me along all day through the boring talks about buildings and shops and foods, it was now my turn to have fun.

I remember spinning in a circle while holding hands and singing with my cousins that I didn't know existed until that day. We couldn’t speak the same language, but we knew how to jump around and play like the crazy kids we were; our energy levels created an immediate bond. Sometimes when we formed our circle of cousins, hand in hand, we would spin round and round until it felt like the room flipped upside down. Something about the circle must have made us feel united, maybe we held on to each other so that we wouldn’t be separated, but clearly, separation was inevitable. Occasionally, I see these images on a screen, but most of the time I see them in my head. These are the only memories I have with my distant family.

***

Recently, after my grandma ran across the picture, I was bombarded with more photos of the family that I once knew. I was able to recall certain details about the trip— buying gelato, walking down a street and passing statues, and seeing all of the chapels and architecture—but I am unable to recall most of the moments that I would like to remember. I would trade these simple memories in a heartbeat just to remember the people, the family that I met there.

I went into the Italian family’s home not knowing why I was in Italy, but I came back from the trip with an important lesson engraved in my head.

I struggle to wrap my head around the idea that there are people, important people whom I should know but have no connection to. Many people know their families and get to see them often, at least more than five times in their lives, but this probably won’t be the case for me. Every time I look at pictures from my trip, I am reminded of individuals whom I can’t remember, but now, in my head, it is hard to forget who they are to me. A reminder of family. A reminder of loss. A reminder of a lesson that will stay with me forever.

They are not only a lost family made up of people that I didn’t know existed until that one night. To me, they are a lost family in my memories.

Family time truly is precious. Because there is that lingering thought in my head that my entire family may never reunite again, I try to cherish each day spent with close family members. These are people I can devote time to by choice and people who will stick with me when I am struggling or thriving. They make up the family that I am able to see without swimming across an ocean and walking miles to visit. After that single picture weaved its way into my life, I became determined to keep my family at the top of my priorities because of what my grandma taught me: “Family is everything.”

For now, that family will remain close in my heart and I will have to continue wishing to see them again. Although I may never get the opportunity to break the distance that lies between us, they will still feel like home, a distant home. My memories no longer seem so lost.