Two weeks ago today, October 15, I was on a train looking over cold water tumbling across rocks under the bridge somewhere between Montreal and Quebec City, about to debark into the 17th century village with cobblestone streets and flowers spilling over windowsill boxes. Mom and I would deliver our suitcases at the spacious, colorful, tasteful airbnb apartment around the corner from the old church, then wander past intriguing art galleries and find ourselves at the bar in a super hip Italian restaurant drinking merlot and sharing an arugula pizza. The next day we would have coffee with Marc, half the conversation either in French or about French philosophers (I nodded a lot); take a furnicular up a steep cliff overlooking the St. Lawrence River and bright yellow trees; and have lunch at the luxurious Le Chateau Frontenac at the top of the cliff while talking about our tangled American heritage and family heritage.
A week from yesterday, October 22, I had the opportunity for more “lived experience” with tangled heritage, picking up my daughter from one program to take her to another, across state lines. October 22, exactly two years to the day that she had her first night outside the home because of the need for treatment. That was the first night she was away for almost a year. Let’s hope that October 22, 2022, is the first night of the last program. That Saturday was probably one of the scariest, tensest days I’ve even spent. It involved TSA agents and police and missed flights and two-hour Uber rides. But, all’s well that ends well, as they say, and we made it to our final destination, St. George, Utah, on time for Tatum to join up with her group, as darkness, dust, relief and fear fell around my shoulders.
And, thank goodness for Lainie. We were on nine flights in three days, and all of it was planned only the day before we left, while I was working on a job application, a policy paper on refugee children in Uganda.
In the meantime, Kevin was en route to Afghanistan. Clara’s major focus was having him get a picture with the Taliban, but after explaining that ten of the World Bank contractors had just been released from three days in jail, I argued the other way, that perhaps a smiling selfie with a terrorist was not optimal. It is barely more than a year since the country fell and the situation is precarious, to put it mildly. He stayed in a United Nations compound and out of trouble. He has since returned safely to Delhi.
There is rarely a dull day around here. I wouldn’t mind one sometime. Lived experience is not all it’s cracked up to be. I didn’t get the job, thankfully. I don’t know when I would have time to go to an office between taxi service to lacrosse practice and the bus stop, coordinating travel plans, and problem solving the crisis du jour (there’s my French). When it all gets to be too much, I will mentally transport myself back to being in Quebec with my mom. I wonder if someday, I will be on a similar and similarly beautiful trip with my daughter. I hope so.
@theterrace 