6 weeks and four days of separation.

That’s a long time for a mother and a daughter.

Hard to believe that the last time I saw her, we were on another continent.

Notre belle France (our beautiful France). Sigh.

It feels so good to be together again. To have her here next to me. To talk about everything.

From nail polish, to fashion — we’ve been pouring over InStyle’s September Issue – I am so crushing on some of those fabulous multi colored heels, to long walks and yoga sessions, to more serious discussions on life, love and death.

My grandfather is dying.

I know I am actually lucky to be saying this. To know this and be able to take what time is left to be with him. I didn’t think it would be hard. But it is.

Because I keep thinking that I’m going to forget something that I desperately do not want to forget. A question. The answer. A song. The memory.

So I am trying just as desperately to think of all the questions now. Every possible thing I can think of.

Things he loved about his parents and brothers.  Books he read that touched him. Jokes and stories. Girlfriends and friends. Baseball and birthdays. Ice cream and sundaes. Games and guns.

Yet.

Inevitably, despite all the topics and questions I’m asking, I know, there will be something. Something I’ll think of, maybe years from now, that never dawned on me to ask. Never even crossed my mind.

So I am trying. To ask and know as much as possible. To take advantage of everyday.

Aren’t we supposed to already be doing this, aren’t I?

Why is it that it takes death to remind us to live?

How is it that we get so caught up and consumed with the daily day to dayness of life that we somehow overlook the delicate joy that surrounds us?

I am asking, because I obviously have not yet mastered this. Is that even possible? To continually be in that state?

Perhaps it’s the not being there that makes it possible for us to get there in the first place.

That in the presence of things such as death we are able to know this deep appreciation for life.

Life.

Which brings me back to Maman … truly a remarkable woman, who brought life times three into the world … and whom I greatly admire.

Who else can I travel with, laugh with, and just be me with, all the while knowing she’s not judging me or somehow seeing me as less than.

She thinks I’m perfect, even with all these imperfections. I suppose that’s what they mean by: a mother’s love.

Here we are in Saint Chapelle, pre Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Concert.