Had the rare opportunity to spend some time with my younger sister the other day. We hadn't seen each other since last summer, so catching up was needed. We decided to drive out to see our folks, to check-up on them and see how they had fared the winter. The drive was enjoyable and everything from current day politics to old family business was rehashed. I even managed to get her to admit that she had indeed mellowed personally a bit since her retreat from the world of high-risk finance.We found a quaint little bistro on the edge of the woods and had a nice lunch while she listened to me prattle on about some current concerns and struggles i was experiencing with my own kids. It was nice to have a family member to share my concerns with, you know, someone who knows the very depth of the fiber. Theres an insight that comes from a family member that cant come from anywhere else.
After lunch was completed, we walked leisurely through the post rain mist, to where the little flower shop was. Mom was always such a fan of tulips, especially the brighter colored variety. She would be pleased with the lovely soft pink ones my sister had chosen.
As we got a bit closer to Mom and Dad's, there was a bit of concern as to whether the roads were going to allow us passage. They were unpaved, and as result , very wet and slippery, but we were soon at number
A-30, Mom and Dad.s place..
We both stepped from the car, and for just a moment, i felt a small degree of trepidation. That little feeling that says gee iv'e been away a bit too long, i hope they're not too upset with us.
Concerns fell away very quickly as we stepped into their presence. Conversation immediately and somewhat predictably, i suppose fell back to when we were last all together, seemingly, a thousand years ago. We spoke of how they had truly capitalised on the "immigrants dream" , coming to Canada in 1957 from Holland, "With a hundred dollars in our pocket,and then your mother got sick!"....I think if i had a nickel for every time my dad said that line i could have given him back that hundred dollars. My sister, i think said it best for both of us though, She said "you know, if Mom and Dad succeeded the immigrants dream, then we can truly say that we (my sister and myself) had won the lottery". I knew immediately what she meant. You see, my parents could not have children of their own, so, my sister and i were adopted. Me first in late 1962, and Lee-Ann in 66
.Lee-Ann and i both have just enough knowledge of our birth families to know that we were both very lucky to have been given up,so that we could be adopted by these two people from Holland, who had a lifetime of love and caring to give.I cringe sometimes, thinking of what my life would have been had my birth mother elected to keep me.
Through the chatter and laughter,the remembrance and the occasional tear i think that. in the end, all that needed to be said, was said. As quickly as we arrived, it seemed just as right when the time to leave fell upon us all. Farewells were hushed and as expected, a bit sorrowful, with the ever present cliche' to" return soon" Mom and Dad know we have busy lives, and Lee-Ann and her husband Peter live thousands of miles away. They know it's not easy for us to get out to their little spot in the forest, but i truly know that they are ok with it. They are ok with it, because we are doing exactly what they set out for us to do,...live our lives, flourish with our families, and love, because we were loved.
As we crested the small hill towards the car, i looked back at the tulips placed gently at the base of the majestic fir overlooking the river valley my father had picked out to scatter my Mom's ashes, and ultimately, where i scattered his. The afternoon sun pierced the clouds and the entire valley seemed to spring forth in life, from the sparkling snow beneath the tulips, to the mountain peaks that surrounded us. Easily enough put to coincidence i suppose, but i think i'm gonna keep that one for myself, you see, Mom and dad were never big over the top "I love you" types. in fact, that phrase was rarely spoken at our home. "i love you's" at our house, were expressed more often through acts and gesture, like say for example, parting the clouds and allowing in enough sunshine to show that all was well on the side of that little mountain,and they were not only happy for our visit, but happy for us, and the lives we were living.
The "immigrants dream" did not pass with my folks, they left it behind, for us, as they had always intended to do, and we, the benefactors, will never forget
Well'te ruste Oma n Opa,
We love you too.
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