Not long after Mom and Dad moved to Madison, Connecticut in 1995, they discovered a treasure.

No, it wasn’t Hammonasset Beach State Park, just a few miles away. It wasn’t the many opportunities for fresh seafood in the charming oceanfront community. And it wasn’t even the discovery that there was a Girl Scout two doors down, who would keep them supplied with Thin Mints for years to come.

It was the bookstore.

And not just any bookstore. An independent bookseller.

I remember, all those years ago, Mom’s excitement over the phone as she told me the owner, Roxanne J. Coady, had worked in publishing in “the city” and knew just about everyone involved in the book business. (I see on the shop’s “About” page that Roxanne also lost her father this year; our sincere condolences go out to her.)

Not only was RJ Julia Booksellers a classic bookstore, it was also a place where authors stopped by to speak and to sign copies of their work.

I wish I had a list of all the authors they met over the years. Photographs from the book signings are displayed on the walls throughout the shop.

Mom and Dad were over the moon.

On Father’s Day, although we were still knee-deep in clearing out Mom and Dad’s house, Gary and I stopped by the shop for one last visit.

There on one wall was a photo of Frank McCourt. I believe Mom and Dad sent copies of Angela’s Ashes to everyone they knew that Christmas. (I very much want to read it again, but not until the heavy weight of mourning both of my parents lightens.)

Before long, Gary zeroed in on the Military History section and I made my way over to an area that included music, art, gardening, travel, and souvenirs.

I must admit, I didn’t expect that being in RJ Julia’s again would hit me so hard. The memories came rushing back. Mom loved to take her grandchildren here. I honestly expected her to come around the corner and ask brightly:

“Did you find anything? My treat!”

It was while walking with Mom toward the bookstore’s café from the parking lot behind the shop that I first noticed something was wrong. It was 2005, I think, and Mom had fallen a few times, but no specific cause had yet been determined. While walking up the few steps to the outside dining area, I noticed Mom’s gait was different. It reminded me of a toddler’s walk – concentrating so hard on lifting the foot slowly, carefully, and letting it fall heavily. Within months, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to find a book. Truth be told, I have more than enough reading material – much of it from my parents – to last, well … forever. But it didn’t feel right not to buy something during this final visit.

The gardening section caught my eye, as this two-years-in retiree is starting to work on something that may eventually look like an English country garden. Over here in the States, we call them Cottage Gardens, and there was a book just waiting for me.

I checked on Gary. His arms were loaded as he continued to scan the stacks. “THIS is a bookstore!” he all but shouted.

I wandered back to the other side of the shop and picked out some notecards with Snoopy on them. He’s sitting atop his dog house, with a typewriter. Another memory of Mom.

My eyes filled with tears again. I struggled to respond when the clerk checked out our purchases and asked cheerfully if we were members of their Booklovers Club loyalty program.

“My parents might be – would you mind checking?” I gave her their names and added that they adored this charming shop.

She reported back that she found their record – but that their membership had expired.

“Oh,” I said, ignoring the urge to be respectful. “That would be because they have expired.”

That poor clerk look mortified, but I assured her my parents both appreciated a clever turn of phrase, so it was okay to smile.

We renewed the membership and for the next year will enjoy making discounted online orders – in my parents’ names – from RJ Julia Independent Booksellers.

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