A Piece of My Heart in Paris With Mom

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A Piece of My Heart in Paris With Mom

I set multiple alarms to make sure I didn’t miss my train to Angoulême, France.

A wise choice, especially after several days of little sleep, and getting to bed at 2 AM after a night on the town in Paris.

Tick tock.

7:00 AM.
7:30 AM.
Snooze.

And then…

What!?

8:30 AM!

My car was coming at 8:30.

Run, Forrest, run!

It just got real.

No coffee needed. I’m fine. I’m good. Wide awake.

I threw the rest of my things into my luggage and bolted. I shuffled past the front desk, through the doors, and jumped into the car.

Made it.

The Train Ride and the Pause I Needed

The train ride was worth every frantic second.

Train rides have a way of doing that. They slow you down. They force you to breathe. They give you time to reflect, to watch the countryside roll by, to simply pause.

And I did.

Gratitude for family. Gratitude for friends. Gratitude for the present moment. Gratitude for old adventures and new ones.

I thought about all the people I’ve met along the way, pilots and flight attendants, drivers, wait staff, and all the moving pieces and parts that quietly keep the world turning.

I also thought about the similarities between my mom and me.

My mom was a no-nonsense “get up and go” type of woman. She loved adventure and always embraced her surroundings. She was the kind of person who didn’t wait for the perfect moment.

She made the moment.

Mom and Medjugorje

My mom once got on a plane by herself from Canada and traveled to Our Lady of Medjugorje.

Medjugorje, which means “between the mountains,” is a Roman Catholic parish located in southwestern Bosnia and Herzegovina, about 25 km southwest of Mostar and 20 km east of the border with Croatia.

Many people travel there from all over the world to climb the stairs, pray, and ask for healing.

My mom had undergone triple bypass heart surgery only weeks before. She had been advised not to fly.

But she was determined.

She felt called by her higher power, and she went anyway, unknowingly overcoming one of her greatest fears: flying.

That was my mom.

Brave. Faith-filled. Stubborn in the best way.

Paris, Peace, and a Sign

I know my mom would have loved Paris.

And somehow… I feel like she was there with me.

Then suddenly, I realized I had left my black leather gloves behind at Hôtel de la Paix Tour Eiffel.

My mum’s gloves.

Paix.

Peace.

Yes, peace, my dear sweet mother.

Enjoy Paris.

Alvina Lina Pelletier

July 16, 1946 – December 29, 2019

jMf



 


Comments

  1. KimmiePDecember 13, 2021 at 10:23 PM

    Where to next?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Cindy MurphyDecember 15, 2021 at 5:20 PM

    I can see you waking up! LOL...and the "loss" of your gloves brings a warmth to your heart...and ours.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Jackie FraryDecember 19, 2021 at 5:55 AM

      @ Cindy, yes, was a hot mess for a minute. I have comfort of my mom on this journey... every day <3

      Delete

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