From the clear view in the kitchen, her parents looked at their daughter, in a poised stance among the bustling group of sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins, with her son plastered on to her stylish jeans. As she leaned down and pushed the dark hair out of her son's eyes lined with long lashes, her mother remembered how she used to do the same thing to her daughter more than two decades ago.
Without removing her glance from the living room, her mother lightly squeezed the hand of her father. They continued to look at their surroundings, taking it all in, lest they forget this moment.
Neither parent had to say a word. What a triumph their life and marriage had been. They had such a large family filled with loving children, with Anna being the catapult of personality and generosity.
Following their lingering for a few more moments, her mother and father turned toward the freshly-painted white cabinets to reach for the white plates speckled with blue porcelain flecks. They readied the table as the rest of the family flocked to the airy kitchen, and the sounds of laughter, clinking glass and silverware, and the rustle of napkin arranging filled the room.
In their wiser age, Anna’s parents beamed with happiness. This is what their purpose had been; not to be wildly rich, as they had once been convinced, but to be surrounded with their loving family. No amount of money could buy this type of joy.