We moved from the US to a small Italian village. Now, my 75-year-old parents are following in our footsteps.

Nearly three years ago, my husband and I moved from New York City to a hillside Sicilian village.

We’d bought a house here remotely, without seeing it in person until several months after the closing.

During the unconventional process, my now-75-year-old parents, based in Colorado, were our biggest supporters.

We had long phone calls, during which we reviewed the pros and cons of each property.

They were as immersed in the adventure as we were.

Sometimes, they’d even talk about “our house in Sicily” — as if we were buying them a Mediterranean home.

Still, I worried about how they’d feel when we decided to move here full-time.

My dad’s response: “We thought you’d do it sooner.” Then, my parents started planning their first visit.

Supporting aging parents is emotionally fraught in the best of circumstances.

Most of my friends in the US are struggling with it right now.

Since my husband had recently lost both of his parents, we spent two months visiting mine before our one-way flight to Italy.

As if to drive home my worries, one night during this time, my dad had a health scare.

He lost consciousness, and it took what felt like an eternity to revive him.

Paramedics rushed him to the hospital, and we learned that thankfully, he’d be OK — but for a few moments, I thought I was losing my dad.

Leaving felt like abandoning my family.

In the years ahead, more care responsibilities would likely fall to my younger sister, who lives in Colorado near my parents.

My own chronic health issues also meant regular trips back to the US wouldn’t be realistic.

I just hoped that I could be helpful and supportive from afar.

After giving us a year to settle in Sicily, my parents planned their first monthlong visit.

They arrived in mid-January 2025, and from the get-go, almost everything went awry.

They caught a norovirus while traveling, most excursions were rained out, and I mixed up the dates for the festival we’d scheduled their stay around.

Oh, and the stray cat we’d been feeding had a litter of kittens in our kitchen!

There was one unique highlight: My parents attended the oath ceremony for my Italian citizenship by marriage.

Despite that silver lining, I thought they would never want to return after so much chaos.

But my parents are adventurous people — my dad worked as a Merchant Marine to put himself through college, then became a king crabber in Alaska.

My mom spent years as a free-spirited hippie in California before studying art history.

On the days I worked, they explored our village on their own.

They bought fresh bread at the bakery and picked up meat, cheese, and new friends at the macelleria.

Then my dad proposed an unexpected excursion: property viewings.

Our local real estate agent said she had something special to show us: a newly listed three-bedroom house in our neighborhood.

Updated for one-floor living to support aging in place, the house even had a sizable (by Italian standards) walk-in shower.

Upstairs were two more bedrooms, a half bath, and two enormous terraces perfect for gardening and grilling, some of my dad’s favorite pastimes.

It was a 30-second walk from my home.

We all knew this house was the one.

We loved the property, and also what it represented: a chance to reimagine our future yet again.

Our offer was quickly accepted, though the path to closing has been slow.

My parents returned for another month that spring and for three months this year.

We were still waiting for the house to close, so finding short-term rentals in our non-touristy village was stressful but worth it.

We saw snow on Mount Etna, toured UNESCO World Heritage sites, shopped at bustling fish and produce markets, and spent hours getting lost on scenic backroads.

My parents shared stories about their lives, some I’d never heard before.

For now, my parents plan to spend part of the year here, splitting their time near both of their daughters.

A full-time move is a future possibility, though, so I’ve been keeping an eye on visa requirements.

I’m grateful that my 75-year-old parents are discovering new opportunities here in Italy.

Now, instead of growing more distant — separated by an ocean and two continents — we’re making lists of age- and mobility-appropriate future adventures.

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