165 Years

The elegant Parisian boarded the plane to USA. Her flowing skirt
and black knit top fit her like a glove and flat ballerina shoes
cuddled her feet. Her hair could never make up it's own mind
about color. Thirty years ago it was dark brown progressively
becoming lighter with her years from dark blonde to nearly white
emerged. Nature was kind to her. She looked as beautiful as when
she was nineteen working as a runway model in her hometown of
Paris, France. On the plane, she sat in her aisle seat thinking
back sixty odd years when she had boarded a plane to the unknown
land of America. An army husband awaited her in his hometown of
Boston, Massachusetts. They had met during the second World War
in Paris, France and today they would set eyes upon each other
after many years of separation. Divorce occurred after three
daughters forty five years ago. They had gone their separate ways.
The Bostonian doctor had become successful in his field. He also
played the field which confirmed his bachelorhood. A family crisis
was bringing them together on this eventful day. A reunion was
about to occur and the anticipation leading up to this renewed
encounter was hanging over their heads like a cloud full of rain
about to burst.
The Bostonian is 85 having just undergone prostate cancer
radiation, skin cancer removed from his nose and cataracts
replaced wise lens that have seen it all. The Parisian is 81
years young. She also had cataract surgery and takes daily dosage
of multi colored pills. He was in his early twenties and she just
nineteen year old virgin when they had first met. Like Adam and Eve's
first union on this planet, the Bostonian and his Parisian fell in
love and married creating three daughters. From this, twelve
grandchildren emerged and four great grandchildren. Twenty one
people resulted from the union of my mother and father. And soon
they were going to set eyes upon one another for the first time in
decades.
The white haired attractive Bostonian was reading the
autobiography of some philosopher testing his memory and
intelligence as robust as the day he won scholarships to Harvard
and Tufts. His mismatched socks and scruffy clothes did not
undermine his brilliance as a genius oncologist. What must have
been racing through his mind at the thought of his first love,
mother of his three daughters, arriving at his front door? It took
a family dilemma to reunite them perhaps for the last time in
their lives. Each anticipated if the other would have aged
gracefully or had life imprinted the telltale signs of aging?
Would they recognize each other? Would they remember the very
first time their eyes met in Paris? Or, would
the cruelty of life and wisdom acquired, replace the innocence
they both shared? Had life been good to them?
Darkness had taken over the daylight and my mother arrived at the
front door. My father was in his room waiting for the moment of
courage to face the mother of his children. Moments past when my
father mustered up enough courage to greet her and they embraced
with quick awkward kisses on the cheek. Conversation took place
quickly and nervously. Afraid to say the wrong thing and afraid
to say the right thing. They glanced at each other concealing
obvious eagerness to stare and sum up. Has nature spared her
wrought on them both? What could have been going through their
minds I wondered? Did their romance in Paris flash before their
eyes? Did they have visions of each other at nineteen years old?
Did their babies cries echo through their minds? I observed each
glance, word and stare to try and capture a moment I knew would
never repeat itself. This was a one time shot, this would never
happen again. I wished the clocks could stop, that time could
stay still just long enough to imprint these brief seconds in my
mind forever.
But then at that same moment, I was imagining that perhaps the
cause and reason for their divorce crept into their minds and
robbed moments of happiness and bliss. Were they also asking each
other in silence "Why?". I suppose I will never know the answer
to this. As soon as they had said hello, they had to say goodbye
for my father was off on a trip. I thought about my sisters and
brothers emerging from this union. I would not be here, had it
not been for them. My daughter and son would not be here, nor my
nephews and nieces. I had never experienced these emotions of
happiness and sadness intervened into one emotion. A lifetime had
passed for the Parisian and the Bostonian. They are old now, their
movements had slowed down, their backs slightly arched and hair
white as snow. Their fading eye sight smoothed out the wrinkles
nature had unforgiving given to them. They spoke louder to each
other to compensate failed hearing.
I looked at both of them and imagined my fate. Time would soon take
me to where they are today. There would be no escape. My fate has
been mapped out just the same as theirs. The eternity lies within
us, their children and our children's children. Together, they had
witnessed twenty years shy of a century. I was here, a product of
their youth and love. And here they were, near the end of life's
journey, together again as they had been sixty years ago.

Together, they are 165 years old. God bless them.

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