Bottle of red, bottle of white, perhaps a bottle of rosé tonight

Well, it's 2019. When I look at that number I am incredulous. How have we made it here? What happened? You know, the normal relativity of time kind of stuff.
Over the holidays my mom watched a compilation DVD of Christmases past. She had me come over to see myself I the video in 1991. Hey 1991, Sarah!
What struck me more in the video was my mom. She was talking about how she and my father were going to go to the Summer Olympics in Barcelona in 1992. So much excitement in her voice. Her kids were older and they were going to make one of the big dream items happen and go watch ALL of the volleyball. My parents never made it to the 1992 Barcelona Summer Olympics. A few short months later their house erupted in flames and the course of their lives was forever changed. You know who made it to Europe in 1992, me.
I also overheard my mom talking to Linda (I think) about a special bottle of wine that she had been saving. Apparently it was for a good year and a good vineyard.  All things I don't quite understand nor really desire to understand but were important to her. She lost that bottle of wine in the fire.  Until last week, I never even knew about that bottle of wine.
The thing about being a child is that you are so focused on your experiences of the world that you don't even consider your parents experiences. Or at least if you're me you don't.  I have great parents who have continually sacrificed for their children. Sacrifices large and small. They rarely made any of those sacrifices known. It's just what you do.
I want to know about that bottle of wine. I want to better understand my mom's experience of the world. I'm slowly moving away from the magnetic pull of the internet to work on that and to truly show up for my own children in whatever form that takes.