To start with, I kind of hate the word journey. It's as overused in self help books as the word share, which is another word I detest. But I'm going to break my own vocabulary rule for today.
I travelled to Toronto this week to be with my daughter and her five year old who was having surgery. Aside from six hours of driving through ridiculous traffic there and back, the journey... ok I have to switch that to hmmm experience, was interesting to say the least. We're a mixed race family as I've mentioned. I adopted my daughter in the Caribbean when she was a baby and my grandson's family on his dad's side are from the same island she was born on. See? Complex. I worried when she announced she was pregnant that perhaps baby daddy was a relative from the island. Oy.
He came through the surgery just fine even though his darling little self had to wear a pink robe he wasn't thrilled about. But there we were; my daughter who obviously looks nothing like me, Willie's father who is black and looks like an NFL linebacker and his mom who's light skinned black with freckles on her nose and the most lovely St Vincent lilt in her voice. She's a force with a most tender and loyal heart. And me, a skinny little old white lady. If the staff were confused, they never skipped a beat.
It's not always easy this road of a separated mixed race motley crew. Oh and to confuse things more, I forgot to mention my daughter's adoptive father, my ex who still gives me the evil eye after twenty years of being divorced. He stayed home to look after my daughter's dog who was sick.
Willie has been with his Caribbean family since he was released from hospital. He sleeps with his Grandma and they Skype me every night before bed. She'll get up in the night and make him a full on meal if he's hungry. Puts me to shame. He's healing. Oh boy another self help word. Shite. I miss him and quite honestly I can't understand how my daughter can be away from him. But she needs to pay her rent. And she does her lion's share of care. I guess it's what you'd call a village situation.
I'll see him tomorrow. I bought him a Hatchimal for ninety bucks because he asked for one. I'm a total pushover as a grandma. And after I get in a short visit, I leave for another kind of journey. The real get on an airplane kind. Italy...with Paco.
If you're really bored, imagine us, a couple of crazy old sixty somethings zipping down the Grand Canal in Venice in a vintage mahogany speed boat towards San Marco square. And then Florence and Rome sigh. I've packed my red lipstick and bandaids for my bad foot.
We'll get lost but that is going to be the best part. Life isn't always the way you imagine it.
More to come. Ciao for now.