I Took My Mom on a Birthday Trip After My Dad Died

October has always been a big month for the Leal family. It kicks off with my mom’s birthday on Oct. 1. Then, just a few days later is my parents’ wedding anniversary on Oct. 8. Following that, my dad’s birthday, on Oct. 20. (And coincidentally, my papaw’s too.) A month of celebration, but this year was a little different. This year, my dad died — and, I think, a part of my mom did too.

They had been married 40 years, and together nearly five before that. My dad had three kids from another marriage, and then came my older sister, and then me. I was a daddy’s girl through and through — there was no one who saw me more clearly than my dad. We had long talks often, about the world and family and values. He loved my mom, but he was older, and I’m not sure he realized just how fast things would change. But change they did, and in February we said goodbye.

Being the youngest in a big, mixed family comes with a bit of a unique perspective. You see things from a different angle, catching pieces of stories and remembered moments that others tell time and time again. Over the years, you end up holding onto those little details: the traditions, the funny stories, the things no one else remembers. In a way, the youngest often becomes the keeper of memories. And I knew we — and especially my mom — needed some new ones. Because while for me, my dad was the center of my universe, for my mom he was the understanding of it.

Most of her travels had been with my dad (and us), piled into a car and exploring the US. My mom has always loved history (“Isn’t that so cool?” she’d say time and time again on a tour of some sort or after reading a historical marker), and my mom also loves a beer (alongside, preferably, a good burger). I had originally booked a trip in October for Asheville, NC, but Hurricane Helene had a different plan. So, instead, we made our way to Boston, and our trip began — a month late, but we were ready.

Being a lifestyle and travel writer, one of the biggest perks of my job is being hosted by different properties and restaurants to get the gist of what they do (and so I know what to write later on). I had taken my mom on one prior trip — to Greenville, SC — and she marveled at how big our room was and all the food restaurants would send for us to try. (Growing up, we mostly stayed at budget hotels that we found by reading signs from a highway. Best Westerns were a go-to.)

This time, we got a little more luxe, starting at the Four Seasons, where a dessert plate read “Welcome!” as we entered the room. My mom had never stayed in a Four Seasons, let alone a five-star luxury hotel. I told her these beds would change her life. (She later agreed with me.)

As we unpacked, I told her of all the things we’d be doing and exploring. We looked over Boston Common and, because we landed in the evening, we soon made moves to the first thing on our itinerary: Mooncusser, a restaurant in a building that overlooks The Saunders Castle at Park Plaza, an old armory that (you guessed it) looks like a castle. The restaurant focuses on seafood and has a tasting menu with two choices each, save for the starters. You can do à la carte drinks or pair with wine.

“I don’t get to do these fancy things like you do,” she said.

“Well, you do this weekend,” I said, and I thought about how my parents skimped and saved to give us kids what they could. I was the first in my family to go away to college and get a four-year degree, and I did so with the help of scholarships. My family’s idea of a nice dinner was Red Lobster, and that was an outing few and far between.

As my mom tasted halibut crudo for the first time (not her favorite), and ate local hake with clam sauce and lemon bread crumbs (a winner), it really dawned on me how new life experiences just keep happening. And that, at the end of the day, it’s our parents’ first time living, too.

During our time in Boston, we had delicious cocktails (“I’m not really a cocktail drinker, but I like trying new things,” my mom said at Moon Bar, downstairs from Mooncusser). We ordered fancy room service. We walked around Boston Common and the Public Garden. We drank wine at one of the coolest wine bars in the city, Nathálie, which focuses on female winemakers and small production wines. We went on The Freedom Trail tour and saw John Hancock’s grave and Paul Revere’s grave and Samuel Adams’ grave. (A lot of graves were seen, actually.) We went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, which my mom thought was the coolest thing ever. We checked in and explored a new part of Boston at The Dagny, before heading to Trillium Brewing Company for a couple of beers and some really great food (and yes, a burger). We explored Boston Public Market, where most vendors are sourced from New England, and got smoothies from Mother Juice and bagels from Bagel Guild.

On our last day, I sprang for massages for us. Last year I had gifted my mom one for Mother’s Day — she had never had one before. This was to be her second, ever. As I walked out of my appointment blissed and ready for tea, my mom’s massage therapist waited outside her door. “She’ll be out in a minute,” she said to me, in a loving, hushed tone. My mom appeared minutes later, sitting down next to me as her therapist thanked her for coming.

She told me she told the therapist that her husband had passed. “I cried,” she whispered to me, and I told her that’s good. Our bodies hold so much — emotion, trauma, hurt — that it can bring up a lot when we finally let ourselves relax. She nodded, something she knew too as a nurse, but that had to be said out loud. Because sometimes it takes moments like that — being still, being cared for when you’re so used to doing the caring — to remind us how much we carry and how much we need to let go.

As we packed up, I thought of how much we laughed and also how there would be moments where my mom would become teary. “It just comes sometimes,” she would say, and I would nod. We are both still carrying so much grief, but this weekend felt lighter. “I could live here,” my mom said more than once, and I smiled, knowing how much of a step it was for her to imagine a life beyond the one she had lost. (Even if it was mostly fantasy.) A reminder that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, but learning to imagine and explore again.

Samantha Leal is a lifestyle writer, editor, and editorial consultant who writes about beauty, wellness, travel, drinks, and more — basically, all the good things in life. She’s held editorial roles at The Knot, Latina magazine, Marie Claire, and Well+Good, and she’s written for PS, Bustle, Vogue, Teen Vogue, Glamour, Travel + Leisure, Byrdie, StyleCaster, The Zoe Report, and more.