"You are appreciated"

Mother's day came and went. It was one of the few times a year I remember to do something meaningfully nice on a day where I'm supposed to do something meaningfully nice. Chantal, isn't too big on DAYS THAT ARE IMPORTANT! She just likes to take those days and do what she loves with the people she loves. Sunday, she got a bunch of flowers from a few people, had breakfast in bed from her husband, and slept approximately 16 hours with her dog next to her. Phone off, TV on playing Pride & Prejudice.

She's really a strange person. Not in a Mommie Dearest way, but just... quirky. Two of the hardest times I've laughed in my life were because of her.

1)      Coming out of a hermit period last year, she was making suggestions about how to occupy my time: school, hobbies, academics, etc. Then she came out of left field:

"You know, there are lots of single, older ladies in the DC area. You could take them out"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Like as an escort. Many of these retired women like to go out with a nice, young man and have drinks, dance, and a good time. I think you'd be good at that. I'd bet it pays well too"

"So, you want me to be an escort? For retirees?"

"Yes! I think it would be great experience for everyone involved."

"So, you're telling your son to hire himself out to retirees for extra money? You do realize the people would be older, lonely men, right?"

2)     My mom had a scare relatively recently. When you get older, things just start changing, and fucking up, and mortality creeps into your life. She told me she got screened after a detection by her physician and everything checked out fine, but she finished off the conversation saying louder than normal into the phone, "my boobs are fine!"

This isn’t fully true, because she decided not to tell me about everything until everything was relatively settled.   It's still not completely gone, but it's better and not as frightening as it could be. But it’s unnerving! I'm glad she has someone like Randy, her husband. I would've been right there, but I guess to her, and in the order of things, I'm not supposed to be the person who's supporting his mother, at least not yet. It'll come and when it does and I'll never shy from the responsibility, but I'll be sadder than ever because she'll be fading. She knows what that does to a person. Maybe to her, I shouldn't be ready for that. Honestly, I'm not. This is my favorite person in the world. I want to bring my kids around her to see how awesome this lady is and why she's that important to me, her family, and her friends. 

She's just... always in great spirits, always looking to laugh, and doesn’t want anyone to worry about her ever. However, I worry. I mean, she definitely isn’t, but it’s never fun to see someone who seemed invincible really seem mortal. She won't live forever, but while we're all here and in god health, we've got a lot of life to live.

When I was 12, my mom graduated from college. She was 34. It had taken her, working part-time, going to school part-time, and raising me (with my grandparent’s help), 7 years to finish her bachelor's degree.

Over the last year of school she managed to save up enough  money to celebrate that graduation by taking us on a trip to Europe. It was one of those guided Americans tours where everyone has fanny packs, and snaps pictures, and looks at The Louvre. It was 2 weeks and we stayed with the group for the first 2 days and the last 2 days. on the walk back from the Champs Elysee on that second day, she looked at me and said, "Son, we're doing this my way."

The rest of the time we went on the journey of France that mom wanted to show me when she was "Chantal." and not just "mom." We left to go to Nice for a few days because she loved the Mediterranean Sea, then we went up to Le Havre for a few days to visit a classmate from her boarding school. Then we went to her boarding school:

It was a “tiny” castle in the hills far east of Paris. Nuns who my mom described as tiny penguins ran it. Some of the nuns were still there. It was definitely age that made them look more penguin-like, but they were tiny women who lived a life that was rural, quiet, and simple. This was in the early 90s, so they had electricity, but my mom spoke of them not even having that when she was there in the 70s. squat toilets, crunchy bread, lots of soup, and lots of apples with honey. This was a simple place that my mom called home for 2 years while her dad was in Zaire.

We walked around the apple orchard and she pointed out the old barn where she told me she had her first kiss. I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say a clichéd “ewww.” I'm glad she shared something like that with me. It was great. I couldn’t remember the place unless I asked her its name. The fact that she calls the show Seinfeld, “Steinfeld,” makes me think she might not get it exactly right, even today

After seeing the nuns who taught her two decades earlier, we walked back to the town, about 2 miles, and sat at a cafe by the train station. We grabbed an early dinner of steak frites. She got a bottle of wine, and poured me one glass before dinner. Then another during dinner. Tiny, wine buzz and all, we hopped on the train and rode back to Paris. I slept on the train for a little over an hour and she woke me up as we pulled into Gare de L'est. We walked around the city, looking for something to do for a teenager and his mid-30s mom. She heard a bunch of bongos and smelled flavored tobacco and we went to a jazz bar/night club where she talked to the owners about how she wanted to show her American son Paris and get him a glass of wine and have a good night.

Honestly, I got that wine buzz twisted into a buzz-buzz. I was dancing to the music, with my mom twirling me around. After the second glass of wine, I got too buzzed and had to splash some water in my eyes. I forgot that the French water was different and my eyes were on fire! We had to take off because my contact lenses were aflame and I had to rip them out so it would stop. We made it back to the hotel and I flopped out on my bed, snoring like an old man.

The next morning she woke me up at 7 AM with a crepe and coffee. She got us on a bus for 8 AM to see Versaille. I'd find out later that I was what you call, "hungover." But what a place to be when you feel like a demon is in your body. I didn't get sick, but I walked around slowly, with that coffee, sipping it for about an hour until I felt like myself again. I know that luxury is ostentatious, but that hall of mirrors feels like something from another world. The grounds looked like an entire other palace. If you want to see something amazing, I'd put that in your book.

When we were done with the tour, we went back to Paris and met up with my grandparent's friends, the Jean-Gilles. They were friends of his from graduate school and they had moved to France because they wanted to get away from New York, before they ultimately retired in Miami. They showed us around the local spots in Paris: a local restaurant they liked, a perfume store for my mother, and finally a cafe to relax after walking for so many hours. When we parted ways, Dr. Jean-Gille (Mrs.) gave me a big hug and told me I was wonderfully mannered like my grandfather and Dr. Jean-Gille (Mr.) gave me his beret and congratulated me on not seeming so American while in France. He meant that in a good way, but I think she said it better.

We talked about that trip over the weekend because Dr. Jean-Gilles (Mr.) passed away a few weeks back without me knowing. When mortality hits, and one finds out from someone ill, it's doubly intense. It's why, when I say I want to live forever, it's because I love life and want to have as much it as possible. It's why I get on my case to be better, why I get on my mom's case to be better, and why I think things will ultimately be better than before. Regardless, at least I finally feel comfortable using swear words around my mom when I'm shocked.