“Take a pause,” Alma texted back when I wrote her that we had a busy October: five book readings, a CT scan, a bone scan, two immunotherapy infusions, surgery to install a port.

We choose friends for a reason or a season, and sometimes we choose them for life. That makes them family. We don’t always know which is which. Most of my college buddies have evolved into Christmas card acquaintances, but 40 years later, the guy who sang bass in the Chapel Choir is still Uncle David to my sons.

When choosing children, we know we mean forever. Even when forever doesn’t work out, like our experience with the triplets. Even when there are days that neither of my sons (Zane or Aidan) is choosing me back.

The rules are different with brethren. Genetically, I’ve got two brothers (X and XX) and even though we never quite chose each other, we never rejected each other either. At least not for long.

I have no female siblings, but there are a few women I’d categorize as chosen sisters: Amanda, Deidre, Jill, Sarah, SASB. That makes Sasb’s husband Mordecai a chosen brother-in-law. By extension, the friends of chosen sisters sometimes become our chosen cousins.

Which brings us back to Alma. She used to bake scones for the market in Piedmont where Jill worked as a barista. Alma and Padraig (her husband) come from Thurles in County Tipperary, a small town where Alma’s family has lived for 400 years. Sarah and Jill invited us all for an evening of dinner and “Ted Lasso” and we clicked. Padraig works in construction and his job has taken them to Jamaica, Canada, Alameda and since June, to Seattle.

Alma has an Irish perspective: She talks with her mother every day. Even though her son and daughter live in another country, she keeps them on her Starbucks account, so they can have “a cuppa” every day with their Ma.

And when any one of us gets worked up, she says, “Take a pause.”

It’s a micro-meditation, a break in the routine. She reminds us to take the time to breathe. When Alma texted this, I thought, “What better place to go for Indigenous Peoples Day weekend than a city named after the Duwamish leader known as Sealth?”

Neither Zane nor Aidan opted to go. Aidan has a theoretical girlfriend in Yakima, who he met online, but prefers to keep the relationship virtual. Zane promised that I would not become a chosen grandfather by the end of the weekend.

Up until the recent holiday, my working knowledge of Seattle came from “Here Come the Brides” and “Sleepless in Seattle,” so I hoped that I’d run into either Bobby Sherman, Frasier Crane or Tom Hanks. Or at least meet a few lumberjacks.

We arrived on Friday, spent a lazy day walking around Lake Washington. Padraig’s cousins, Tony and Denise, came by, and over turkey chili and a few beers, it brought us to poetry and song. Denise sang that no matter how far apart you were from your family, you shared the same moon. Near midnight, she crooned, “Come fill to me the Parting Glass, good night and joy be with ye all.”

(At this point, my husband Brian might say that the cousin of my chosen cousin would be my second chosen cousin once removed.)

Seattle lies in the shadow of the Olympic and Cascade Mountains. It gets a different kind of fog than we do, perhaps a distant relation of Karlotta. The city can’t stick with one nickname, like the Big Apple or Big Easy. It calls itself the Emerald City, Rain City, Coffee City, Jet City and Queen City. This is unlike my beloved Frank, a town that hates nicknames.

On Saturday, we visited the Public Market and took a tour of the Seattle Underground. Turns out Seattle has burned down as many times as San Francisco has.

On Sunday, Alma took a pause from Seattle, and we visited Snohomish, shopping for antiques, stopping in at a vineyard.

With a Cabernet, we took Denise’s advice and filled the parting glass, took a sip but knew that we’d be back. We had indeed taken a pause from oncology and raising spirited sons. But knew that wherever our chosen family lived would always feel like home.

The next morning, we got to the airport only to find that our plane was delayed by five hours. We settled into an airport bar for grilled cheese sandwiches. Brian shrugged, “Even Alaska Airlines sometimes gets to tell you to take a pause.”

Good night and joy be with ye all.