I’m now having the post-Paris nostalgia.

I think back on this trip and have this little ache inside of me. Not a sad ache … just an ache, combined with thankfulness.

Something told me, I had to make this trip happen with TC. I’m sure that was The People, doing their People-y thing that they do.

You know how it can be really hard, in the moment, to be presently aware and aware of the specialness … that you know, this might come again in another away and form, yet you will never have this precise moment back?

That’s a very challenging thing for me … I can recognize it, yet I don’t know how to always hold on to it, to appreciate it and be there in the fullness of it.

Paris was a waking experience with TC. The second he’d start to push me over the edge on things like, GD LINES! How many times do I have to tell you I will NOT do lines?!, I laughed. I filed it away to savor for later.

TC being TC made me love him more, for the first time. Maybe that’s not something I should be admitting, but I am. We’ve never had the kind of relationship like Maman and I share. There is, at times, underlining tension and anger. More residuals. Being in a different setting with my father, I came to the full realization, he always did the best he could with us. He tried. He provided well. He loves us.

I forgave him in Paris. For all those things that don’t really matter, but you can’t understand when you’re a child. Forgiveness is an awfully strange thing, isn’t it?

I’m still trying to understand it. Forgiveness surprises the F out of me … just when I think there is nothing left and no one to forgive, I experience some place in my heart that is still holding on.

I think TC probably has a lot of people to forgive. I went out on the ledge and gently suggested this as we spread my Pop and Pepe’s ashes at Ile de la Cité. And when he looked at me, I wanted to cry. Except I can’t cry in public places in foreign countries with people around. I just can’t do it. Because I feel like once I start, I’ll never be able to stop and then I’ll look like I’m having a complete breakdown, which would be true, and someone would probably call for backup help.

I saw such a gentleness in him and a vulnerability he had never showed. There were a lot of things I wanted to share … my forgiveness, how much I love him and how blessed I am that he is my father. The words wouldn’t come out. How could I hear them, yet couldn’t bring myself to say them? Maybe I didn’t need to. The only thing I was able to get out: thank you.

There are times, when that is the most powerful thing to say.