The Journey begins
Charles Dickens in the film Nicholas Nickleby wrote that family is not always those whose blood we share but those for whom we would shed blood. Some of us are lucky to have both... great family we were born with... and those friends in life we come across or children we come to call our own. In my case, I am definitely one of the lucky ones.
My mother is here with me... seventy five years old and she was determined to join me on my treck to India to bring home my new daughter Kajal. I'm sitting in the Hotel Merridean Montparnasse in lovely Paris... bleary eyed after a first, very rough day of travel. Let me just give you the highlights. I am lugging over 100 pounds of suitcases, one of which is chock full of 'gifts' that it had been suggested I bring to India to thank all those that had been part of the adoption process. My mother was exhausted so as I watched over her and watched over our luggage.. three checked bags, one of my mothers carry ons and two of my own carry ons... well, you get it. Needless to say I was very stressed out. We boarded a bus from the Charles DeGaulle airport (we here in Paris for two days of sightseeing and rest before continuing on to Mumbai) and headed to our hotel. All of our bags were under the bus with the exception of one critical carry on that had all of my papers and currency in them, that was clasped tightly in my lap. We arrived at the hotel to be shuffled off by a local porter, got into the hotel and crashed... sound asleep for four or five hours. When I awoke I went to grab my second carry on (this one held all the stuff I would really hate to loose and couldn't be without but wouldn't fit in my small carry on... you know, every power cord of every camera and computer. The Indian clothes I'd purchased for my first meeting with Kajal, her prettiest dress, best book, comfy stuffed bunny rabbit) and of course, the bag was no where to be found. In my stress I completely freaked out as I realized it was left behind on the airport bus. A hysterical call to the concierge resulted in a race down to the lobby where he told me 'Thank God!" the bag was safe and sound at the airport. As he directed me (in French which I speak very badly, well, pretty much not at all) to the bus stop down the street where the bus would be in somewhere between 30-45 minutes. I raced back to my room for my ID which I couldn't find at first because the room was in total darkness (I hadn't understood the bell hops explanation in French that the key must be inserted into a slot in the wall to turn on the lights, the directions were in French and I couldn't even see the tiny pictures because it was so dark in the room) By the time I found the passport stumbling in the dark I raced outside into the 45 degree rainy French weather in a thin turtleneck only to find I missed the bus. Needless to say I sat in the Paris rain and cried, right there at the bus stop. All I could think was no pictures, no videos for Kajals to look back on later in the future. No comfort bunny and perfect little crayon holder with little pink flowers all over it. When I finally collected myself enough to ask for help I couldn't find anyone at the bus stop that spoke enough English to understand what I was looking for... two hours later, still in the cold rainy Paris day... the 15 or so bus pulled up and miracle of miracles the bus driver handed me my oh so precious bag.
Was this an omen of things to come? We hadn't even made it to India yet and already I'd had one stressed out emotional breakdown. Of course, you know what I was thinking... I am going to make a terrible mother! How could I take care of a five year old child and myself when I couldn't even take care of myself and a 75 year old mother (who speaks perfect English unlike my little daughter to be).
I have to tell you, I prayed like crazy. I prayed for God to lift the fear that this trip was going to be one disaster after another. I prayed for God to take away my anxiety and stress and doubt that I was capable of being a good mother. Mostly I prayed that if anything else goes wrong on this trip, which of course it most likely will... that I wont loose it in front of my new daughter who will then most likely, think she got a bad rap. Stuck with one crazy mother
My mother is here with me... seventy five years old and she was determined to join me on my treck to India to bring home my new daughter Kajal. I'm sitting in the Hotel Merridean Montparnasse in lovely Paris... bleary eyed after a first, very rough day of travel. Let me just give you the highlights. I am lugging over 100 pounds of suitcases, one of which is chock full of 'gifts' that it had been suggested I bring to India to thank all those that had been part of the adoption process. My mother was exhausted so as I watched over her and watched over our luggage.. three checked bags, one of my mothers carry ons and two of my own carry ons... well, you get it. Needless to say I was very stressed out. We boarded a bus from the Charles DeGaulle airport (we here in Paris for two days of sightseeing and rest before continuing on to Mumbai) and headed to our hotel. All of our bags were under the bus with the exception of one critical carry on that had all of my papers and currency in them, that was clasped tightly in my lap. We arrived at the hotel to be shuffled off by a local porter, got into the hotel and crashed... sound asleep for four or five hours. When I awoke I went to grab my second carry on (this one held all the stuff I would really hate to loose and couldn't be without but wouldn't fit in my small carry on... you know, every power cord of every camera and computer. The Indian clothes I'd purchased for my first meeting with Kajal, her prettiest dress, best book, comfy stuffed bunny rabbit) and of course, the bag was no where to be found. In my stress I completely freaked out as I realized it was left behind on the airport bus. A hysterical call to the concierge resulted in a race down to the lobby where he told me 'Thank God!" the bag was safe and sound at the airport. As he directed me (in French which I speak very badly, well, pretty much not at all) to the bus stop down the street where the bus would be in somewhere between 30-45 minutes. I raced back to my room for my ID which I couldn't find at first because the room was in total darkness (I hadn't understood the bell hops explanation in French that the key must be inserted into a slot in the wall to turn on the lights, the directions were in French and I couldn't even see the tiny pictures because it was so dark in the room) By the time I found the passport stumbling in the dark I raced outside into the 45 degree rainy French weather in a thin turtleneck only to find I missed the bus. Needless to say I sat in the Paris rain and cried, right there at the bus stop. All I could think was no pictures, no videos for Kajals to look back on later in the future. No comfort bunny and perfect little crayon holder with little pink flowers all over it. When I finally collected myself enough to ask for help I couldn't find anyone at the bus stop that spoke enough English to understand what I was looking for... two hours later, still in the cold rainy Paris day... the 15 or so bus pulled up and miracle of miracles the bus driver handed me my oh so precious bag.
Was this an omen of things to come? We hadn't even made it to India yet and already I'd had one stressed out emotional breakdown. Of course, you know what I was thinking... I am going to make a terrible mother! How could I take care of a five year old child and myself when I couldn't even take care of myself and a 75 year old mother (who speaks perfect English unlike my little daughter to be).
I have to tell you, I prayed like crazy. I prayed for God to lift the fear that this trip was going to be one disaster after another. I prayed for God to take away my anxiety and stress and doubt that I was capable of being a good mother. Mostly I prayed that if anything else goes wrong on this trip, which of course it most likely will... that I wont loose it in front of my new daughter who will then most likely, think she got a bad rap. Stuck with one crazy mother
Hey Mom and Lisa,
I am praying for both of you as well as for Kajal's safe return. We are all thinking of you! Lisa we are so sorry that your first day in Grand Paris was eventful and emotional. God was surely looking out for you and sent that bus driver with your bag. Thank God you were in Paris because no bus drivers i have ever seen would go to that length to insure the safe return of a personal item. Lots of love and prayers we miss you!!
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Oh My God!!! You're there! I am speechless. You are so amazing! And the stories were incredible. I could picture you sitting in the rain crying, etc. But, it is a testament that you are a survivor. You know what needs to be done. You are going to be, and are already, the best mother in the world for Kajol... because you are unconditional love.
Can't wait to see the new Mom & Daughter team in the North End.
Peace & Love,
Bill
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I'm imprseesd! You've managed the almost impossible.
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