Tag: family

It’s All About Family

Rediscovering the connections that hold us together.

As the holidays approach at what feels like lightning speed, I can’t help but pause and reflect on what truly matters. In a season filled with gifts, gatherings, and endless to-do lists, it’s easy to get swept up in the noise. But at the end of the day—during the holidays and all year long—it’s all about family.

And when I say family, I don’t just mean blood relatives. I’m talking about the people who have walked with us through life. The ones who show up. The ones who love us, challenge us, support us, laugh with us, and sometimes even cry with us. The brothers and sisters we grew up with, the cousins who feel like lifelong friends, the aunts and uncles who shaped us, the moms and dads who carried us, the grandparents whose wisdom echoes in our hearts. And yes—our friends who became family along the way.

As we continue on this journey we call life, one thing becomes very clear: we need each other.
Through the good times and the not-so-good times, through seasons of joy and seasons of struggle, we were never meant to walk this path alone.

Somewhere along the way, as technology advanced and life sped up, we lost a little bit of that connection. We became more plugged-in, but more disconnected. More reachable online, but harder to reach in real life. And honestly, that’s heartbreaking. I miss the old days sometimes—the days before constant notifications and WiFi, when conversations were face-to-face and time together felt slower, richer, more intentional.

But even as the world changes, one truth stays the same:
Family is where life happens.
Family is where memories are made.
Family is where we return when the world gets noisy.

I love my family—all of them. The ones related by blood and the ones bound by love. And this holiday season, I’m choosing to slow down, to reconnect, and to remember what matters most.

Because in the end, it really is all about family.

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The Long Goodbye

Notes from Alex

About a year ago, I wrote a short story about a journey I’ve come to call The Long Goodbye. The phrase is often used to describe dementia, because it slowly and painfully erodes a person’s memories and personality, leaving loved ones to witness the gradual fading of someone who is still alive. It is, in every sense, a heartbreaking journey—not just for the one walking through it, but for everyone who loves them.

For my family, this has become deeply personal. My father has dementia. Watching the disease touch his heart, his life, his very being, is almost too much to bear at times. There are moments where he looks at us with weariness in his voice and says he is ready to go home. He has told my sister and me this, and he has told his wife the same. Those words carry a weight that cannot be ignored.

In the midst of it all, we’ve found ourselves reminiscing together—about old times, about laughter and love, about people who shaped our family’s story. My Pops often shares memories of my mom, Bobbi, his first wife. They were like two peas in a pod, and I can tell that he misses her deeply. These memories bring him comfort, and in a way, they remind us all of the beauty and richness of the life he has lived.

I share these thoughts not to diminish his relationship with his current wife, but to honor her as well. She has sacrificed greatly to care for my father in this season, and that love and dedication has not gone unnoticed. For that, our family is grateful.

The Long Goodbye is not a journey anyone would choose, but it is one that teaches us to hold onto the good moments tightly, to honor the past, and to walk each day with grace and love for the one we are slowly letting go.

Even in the heaviness of this journey, I am reminded that we are never walking it alone. God meets us in the valleys as surely as He does on the mountaintops, and His love does not fade even when memories do. The Apostle Paul wrote, “Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

That truth gives me comfort—knowing that while my father’s body and mind may be fading, his spirit is being kept in the hands of the One who never forgets. And in that promise, we find strength to endure, love to keep giving, and hope to keep walking this long goodbye with grace.

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A Word About My Father

Notes by Alex – FreeWrite

“A Life of Love, Laughter, and Family”

I wanted to take a moment to talk about my father, Alex Atkinson Sr. He’s a great man—now in his 80s—and throughout his life he has shown what it means to live with love, honor, and respect.

Growing up, my sister and I always knew we were deeply cared for. Dad didn’t just say he loved his family; he showed it in the way he supported us, stood by us, and carried himself with quiet strength. His example taught us that family is something you don’t just belong to—you invest in it, you nurture it, you hold it together.

I remember him telling me how much he had learned from his own father—“Pops.” He picked up the ways of hunting, fishing, and providing, and then carried those lessons forward. Dad shared them with his nephews, with me, with my cousins. That spirit of passing things down—knowledge, traditions, laughter, and care—has always been his way of looking out for our big family.

What I’ll never forget is his smile. Around family, he always had a big grin on his face, ready to laugh, ready to make others laugh. Joy seemed to flow naturally from him, and it lit up our gatherings in a way that made everyone feel at home.

My dad is an amazing man. Not just because of what he’s done, but because of who he is. He is love in action, the kind of steady presence that anchors a family. And for that, and for him, I am forever grateful.

Closing Reflection

As I look at my own life now, I realize how much of my father lives on in me. His lessons about love, honor, and respect shape how I show up for my family and community today. His laughter reminds me to bring joy into every room I enter. And his faithfulness inspires me to stay grounded in what truly matters. In many ways, I see my role now as carrying the torch he lit—continuing the legacy of care, faith, and strength that he embodied so well.

The Bible says in Proverbs 20:7, “The righteous lead blameless lives; blessed are their children after them.” I see that truth in my father’s life. Because he walked in integrity, we—his children and family—continue to live in the blessing of his example. I carry the torch he lit, continuing the legacy of care, faith, and strength that he embodied so well.

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“Founders Day in Metlakatla: A Celebration of Heritage and Home”

By Alexander Atkinson Jr.

Founders Day in Metlakatla: Honoring Our Past, Celebrating Our Present

Every August 7th, the heartbeat of our home—Metlakatla—beats a little louder, a little stronger. Founders Day is more than just a date on the calendar; it’s a living story. A powerful reminder of who we are, where we came from, and the enduring spirit that carries us forward.

In 1887, nearly 800 Tsimshian people made an extraordinary journey. Guided by missionary William Duncan, they left Old Metlakatla in British Columbia, crossing treacherous waters to settle on Annette Island, Alaska. They sought a new beginning—one shaped by faith, self-governance, and unity. That bold migration gave birth to New Metlakatla, and with it, the only federally recognized Native reservation in Alaska.

A Day of Meaning and Memory

Founders Day isn’t just for remembering—it’s for reconnecting. Families come home. Friends reunite. The streets fill with laughter, stories, and the smell of fry bread and smoked salmon. There’s a certain kind of joy you can only feel when you’re surrounded by your people, your land, your culture.

We begin with a parade—a vibrant display of pride and creativity. Children wave from floats. Elders smile as they remember past celebrations. The rhythm of the drums and the beauty of regalia remind us that our traditions are not just preserved—they are thriving.

Field games follow: tug-of-war, races, relays. Booths line the streets with handmade crafts, traditional foods, and smiling faces. And when evening comes, the community gathers for a feast—a long table of abundance, laughter, and gratitude.

Reviving Our Roots

For many years, Tsimshian language, dances, and customs were silenced. But today, Founders Day stands as a vibrant testimony to our cultural revival. We are speaking the language of our ancestors again. We are dancing the dances passed down through generations. And we are doing it proudly, publicly, and together.

These expressions of culture are not just performance—they are acts of remembrance and resistance. They are our gift to the next generation.

More Than a Celebration—A Statement

Founders Day also reminds us of our unique place in Alaska and the nation. The Metlakatla Indian Community continues to govern itself with authority over its resources, maintaining a separate and sovereign identity. This autonomy—this legacy—is not just inherited; it is actively protected and lived.

As our community grows and visitors come to witness the beauty of our traditions, we open our arms in welcome—but we also stand firm in our identity. Tourism rises, but it is rooted in respect. People come to see our dances, our art, our land—but they also leave with a deeper understanding of our story.

A Day We Carry All Year

As we celebrate this year’s Founders Day, let’s remember: we are the descendants of resilience. We are the living continuation of that brave journey in 1887. This day belongs to all of us—past, present, and future.

So whether you’re standing in the parade, sharing a meal at the feast, or simply watching the sunset over Annette Bay, take a moment to honor what it means to be from Metlakatla.

Because on August 7th, and every day after, we are still here—strong, proud, and together.

“From the shorelines of Annette Island to the hearts of those who return—Founders Day reminds us: our roots run deep, and our spirit runs deeper.”

#MetlakatlaStrong #FoundersDay #NotesFromAlex #TsimshianPride

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Thank You, Grandpa Harold

by Alexander Atkinson Jr.
Notes by Alex

Harold C. Hudson — my grandfather, my mom’s dad — was an amazing man.

He had that kind of quiet strength you never forget. A soul anchored in purpose. A presence that made an impression.

He loved to fish. It wasn’t just a hobby — it was who he was. A commercial fisherman, he spent much of his life on the water. But his talents didn’t stop there. Grandpa was also a gifted carver. He made some of the best cedar wooden spoons you’d ever see — all smoothed by hand, each with his unique touch. He’d carve deer calls, too. Many of those spoons and calls were given away to family — shared with love, with no fanfare. That’s just the kind of man he was.

He also loved sports. Never missed a basketball game. Baseball on TV? That was his rhythm during the season.

But if you really wanted to see Grandpa light up, let him sing.

One of his favorite hymns was:
“I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.”

That song came to life in a very real way when Grandpa was in his 80s. He joined a group from our hometown of Metlakatla on a trip to Israel — a journey that deeply touched his heart.

I remember how proudly and joyfully he’d say:

“Yes, I walked where Jesus walked.”

He’d show us the Polaroid photos he took — Jerusalem, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane. That trip meant the world to him. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. You could hear it in his voice.

One time, while I was home from college, I was playing the guitar in the living room. Grandpa came out and sat with me. He began to sing. That moment — singing with Grandpa Harold, who was in his 90s — is one I’ll never forget. It was simple, but it was sacred.

He left a mark on my life.
I remember him reading the Bible.
I remember hearing him pray from his room.
I miss that so much.

Looking back, I realize just how much of a foundation he helped lay for my own faith — my own walk with the Creator.

So today, I simply want to say:

Thank you, Grandpa.

Your faith lives on in me.

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Cherished Saturdays

Every Saturday morning was a special ritual for the family. The air would be filled with the excitement of a new adventure, as one of the boys eagerly awaited their turn for the coveted one-on-one breakfast with Dad. With four energetic boys, a solo breakfast was a rare treat, a chance for uninterrupted conversation and undivided attention.

On one particular Saturday, it was the second oldest’s turn. He was thrilled to pick his favorite café for their morning meal. The café was a cozy little spot, with the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the aroma of pancakes and bacon. The young boy, just seven years old, relished this quality time with his father.

After breakfast, the tradition continued with a visit to K-Mart. The highlight of the trip was always choosing a new Hot Wheel to add to his growing collection. The boy would carefully examine each car, weighing his options before selecting the perfect one.

As they were leaving the café that morning, the boy turned to his father with a mischievous glint in his eye and asked, “Dad, did you notice my socks?”

His father, sensing this was going to be an interesting conversation, replied, “Well, no, son, I didn’t.”

“Do you think anyone noticed my socks?” the boy asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” his father answered, intrigued by where this was heading.

The boy sat there, pondering for a moment, before asking, “Well, then, if you didn’t notice my socks and no one else noticed my socks, why does Mom make me change them all the time?”

His father couldn’t help but laugh at the boy’s innocent logic. It was moments like these that made the routine so precious. He explained with a chuckle, “Well, if you didn’t change your socks, there’s a good chance your feet would smell really bad!”

Both of them burst into laughter, sharing a moment of pure joy and understanding. It was in these simple, everyday moments that the bond between father and son grew stronger.

These Saturdays were not just about breakfast or new toys, but about creating lasting memories, sharing laughs, and cherishing the fleeting moments of childhood. As the years passed, and the boys grew older, these memories became a treasure trove of the past, reminding them to cherish every moment spent together.

Note: I wrote this one with tears streaming down face.

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Walking Through Grief: A Mother’s Legacy

Finding Light in the Darkness: A Mother’s Unyielding Spirit

In the cold, dark depths of a late December, surrounded by the quiet stillness of winter, I found myself grappling with the most profound grief I had ever known. My mother, Roberta Atkinson, had been taken by cancer, a relentless foe that ravaged her body but never dimmed her spirit. Despite the pain and fragility that marked her final days, she remained a beacon of light, always smiling whenever family gathered around her.

Her last Christmas was a bittersweet gathering. We came to be with her, to surround her with love and warmth, knowing it would be her last. Seeing her so frail was heartbreaking, and I found myself consumed with anger towards God. “How dare you,” I would think and sometimes shout in my mind.

One evening, I stepped outside onto the front porch. The landscape was barren, the plant life dormant under the blanket of winter. As I stood there, venting my anger through prayers, an unexpected and beautiful fragrance filled the air—fresh flowers, so vivid and out of place in that wintery scene. I looked around, puzzled, unable to locate the source of this miraculous scent.

When I returned inside, my mother, resting on her bed in the living room, greeted me with a radiant smile. “Did you smell him?” she asked.

Confused, I responded, “What do you mean?”

“My Angel,” she said softly. “He is here, and he smells like the most beautiful roses.”

In that moment, I was struck by the strength of her faith, a faith that never wavered, even in the face of death. Her belief in the presence of an angel, the source of that heavenly scent, brought a sense of peace that I could not deny. It was a reminder that her spirit, her love, and her unwavering faith would always be with us.

My mother was an incredible woman, full of joy and always encouraging those around her. Her laughter, her smile, and her ability to live in the moment left a lasting impact on everyone she met. Even though it has been many years since she graduated from this life to the next, the pain of her absence still lingers. But so does the warmth of her spirit and the lessons she imparted.

Grief is a journey, a path we must walk, often filled with anger, sorrow, and confusion. Yet, it is also a path that can lead to healing, to moments of unexpected beauty, and to the enduring presence of those we love. My mother’s legacy is a testament to the power of faith, the strength of the human spirit, and the everlasting impact of love.

Though it still hurts, remembering her smile and the angelic fragrance of that winter evening brings comfort and a reminder that her spirit is always with us, guiding us through our darkest days.

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Words to live by…

A Day with Uncle Solomon

It was a warm July day in the late 1990s, and I had a rare day off from my job flying seaplanes in our quaint hometown of Metlakatla. These days off were always a treasure, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it—visiting my Uncle Solomon Atkinson.

Uncle Sol was a man revered by everyone who knew him. His wisdom and honor, rooted in prayer and a life filled with faith, made him a beacon of encouragement. Visits to his home were more than just casual family gatherings; they were experiences rich with lessons and insight.

That afternoon, as I stepped into his cozy office, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Uncle Sol at his desk, deep in thought. He welcomed me with a warm smile and a bear hug that spoke volumes of his affection.

We settled into an easy conversation, catching up on life and the latest happenings. The topic soon shifted to what I was doing during the winter months down south. With pride in my voice, I told him about my time in college and the work I had taken up to support my studies.

Uncle Sol listened intently, nodding his head occasionally. Then, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a depth of thought and wisdom. He looked at me and made a statement that would stay with me forever: “When you are done, walking the trails down south, you need to come home and teach our people and our family what you learned.”

His words were simple, yet profound. They carried a weight of responsibility and a call to action that resonated deeply within me. I knew that this was not just a casual remark; it was a guiding principle, a mission that I needed to fulfill.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, my voice steady and resolute. I took his words to heart, knowing that they would shape my path and purpose in the years to come.

That day with Uncle Solomon was more than just a visit; it was a pivotal moment in my life, a moment that defined my commitment to my roots and my community. His wisdom and encouragement were the compass that guided me, reminding me of the importance of giving back and sharing knowledge with those who mattered most.

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From Tsimshian Shores to SEAL Teams: The Legend of Solomon Atkinson

Beneath the Northern Lights, His Journey Unfolded

Once upon a time, in the rugged coastal village of Metlakatla, Alaska, there lived a man named Solomon “Sol” Atkinson. Born in 1930, Sol was a Ts’msyen (Tsimshian) Native American, deeply connected to both his heritage and his community. His life would become a tapestry woven with bravery, service, and legend.

As a young boy, Sol learned resourcefulness from the land and the sea. The support of his tight-knit community shaped him, teaching him resilience and kindness. But it was his ancestors’ legacy that truly set him apart. Sol belonged to the Gitlaan clan of the Xpi’hanaḵ house in the Tsimshian nation, a lineage that followed the matriarchal line—a society rich in tradition and wisdom.

When Sol enlisted in the Navy in 1952, he etched his name into history. He became the first Alaska Native to join the underwater demolition teams, the predecessors to the renowned SEAL Teams. As the SEALs emerged in 1962, Sol’s commitment led him to become one of the inaugural Navy SEALs—a plank owner, a foundational member, of SEAL Team 112. His courage and dedication shone during conflicts in Korea and Vietnam, where he repeatedly risked his life for his comrades and country1.

But Sol’s legend extended beyond the battlefield. He championed his community, ensuring they had a pool that produced Alaska’s only certified scuba training program at the local high school1. His love for Metlakatla ran deep, and he embodied the spirit of service and resilience that defined both his Native American heritage and his Navy SEAL legacy.

And so, the tale of Solomon Atkinson echoed through the misty Alaskan forests—a story of honor, courage, and the unbreakable bonds that tie us to our roots. Legends are born from deeds, but Sol’s legend was etched not only in valor but also in the hearts of those who knew him. His legacy lives on, sailing across the seas as the USNS Solomon Atkinson, a tribute to an Alaska Native and Navy SEAL pioneer3.

Photo by Tyrone Scott Hudson

And as the waves whispered against the shores of Metlakatla, they carried with them the story of Sol—a man who walked between worlds, leaving footprints in the sand and ripples in the ocean, forever etched in time. 🌊🌟

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