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My sanctuary

Have you ever loved something so much it’s brought tears to your eyes? And it’s always in a surprising way — where you aren’t really sure why you’re crying, but you are acutely aware of being so awestruck that there must have just been a confusion of your emotions and tears were produced.

If you have no clue what I’m talking about, I’m truly sorry and hope you experience this sensation soon.

Luckily, I have a place in Michigan that elicits that very response. There’s this little town called Pentwater that brings happiness to every fiber in my body. It’s like second nature that when I arrive, an internal switch sends waves of bliss to every inch of my being.

Even though the amount of time I’m allotted to spend at the cottage seems to dwindle as I get older, I still consider it home. It’s safe, secure and oh-so-cozy and familiar. My year-round home in Illinois is great, but there’s simply nothing quite like coming “home” to my cottage, cleverly nicknamed “the Penthouse.”

I know this happens, in part, because of the history here. My mother came here as a little girl, and my grandmother before her. It’s a family place, and now I have all of my own memories to carry on the tradition.

Ending the night by playing Scrabble or Yahtzee with the whole family after a tiring, sun-filled day at the beach. Experiencing all of the excitement of Homecoming festivities including a parade and fireworks display. Throwing up after eating questionable Mexican food at an Irish pub called Murphy’s. The summer my brother kept breaking everything he touched within the confines of the ancient cottage. Then there’s my personal favorite from long ago, when my brother and I were leaning against a window when the screen broke and he fell through, causing my mother to jump out after him.

Even the standard array of activities that we partake in every time we’re up here can be emotional when you realize you never really know if it will be the last. Lord knows it’s been proven time and time again that life is short and there are no promises.

And that reality rings true louder than ever as I write these words while at my cottage, staring at the vacant recliner next to me, “Papa’s chair,” knowing I will never again see him sitting in it.

I’m not sure who I’ll be 20 years from now, but there’s comfort in knowing that when I come here, things will remain unchanged. Or at the very least, my emotional response will remain constant. And that sameness will serve as a reminder of how far I’ve come as I continue to evolve into a better person than I was yesterday. Remembering how different my life was, even this time last summer, is truly remarkable.

This column is dedicated to my Papa, James “JB” Benzies. Thank you for buying and building a place where magical memories are made. I think of you often, but especially at the Penthouse. Without you, the world has gotten a little darker and a light inside of me has gone out, but it flickers while in Pentwater. Love you forever and always.

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