As I sat thumbing through the pages of a book I did not know or care to know, I clicked the roof of my mouth babying the freshly made latte burn. I looked over at my mom and wondered if she experienced the same fate. I didn’t pick up a trace of defeat, and watched her as she sipped her coffee and brushed her shoes over the industrial carpet, peeking into the exercise room.
My mom and I brought my grandma to physical therapy and were in the waiting room chatting and occasionally peaking in at her evident progress. We had our choices. The appointment was an allotted amount of time, but because that was where we preferred to be, the clear option was to stay.
I was about to leave for Europe, and was jumping at any opportunity to spend time with any member of my family. They were really the only distraction that allowed acid in my stomach to settle for more than five minutes at a time.
My mom picked up a large, thick picture book with beautiful rolling hills entitled ‘Tuscany‘. I edged my chair closer to hers and we paged through the book together. Our eyes progressively got wider as we saw the beautiful churches, landscapes, and vineyards. ‘Max, you’re going to see THIS. In person,’ she said in a longing awe that made me both excited for the experiences to come and sad that I wouldn‘t be sharing them with her. We took our time through the book, each finding this church beautiful, or that fresco amazing. I remember thinking that these places don’t actually exist, and there was no way that any of this could be that beautiful in person.
My parents were pretty sure that if they were making the trip abroad, Greece would be their destination. In hindsight, fortune made it so that Greece wasn’t the location Erik and I would be during their available period of time, and Italy stepped up. The day that I got the official phone call that my parents were positively, 100%, no backing out, coming to Italy, my memory beat me to my own decision. Tuscany, Tuscany, Tuscany. Hearing my parents concur, that they too wanted to visit Florence, Siena, Pisa, and Lucca, I absolutely couldn’t wait.
My mom has been an avid proponent of me chasing my dreams. Days when I absolutely could not serve another breakfast, take another order, or put on my apron, my mom reminded me that I was doing this for a dream. A dream few people have the courage or will to fulfill. I was going, I was making it happen. She was my crutch on the impossible road of waitressing. So knowing that she would no longer have to live vicariously through my stories, and by happenchance was coming to Italy, moreover Tuscany, I couldn’t help but be reminded of our day in the doctors office. ‘Max, you’re going to see THIS,’ quickly became, ‘Mom, WE’RE seeing this!!!!.’
Every place we went I had to pinch myself. My parents were here! I was getting to do (in some instances) once-in-a-lifetime things- AND with my parents. With my mom, who promised me it would all be worth it. And it was. It is. And will continue to be. Who showed me a book of Tuscany and erased my fears and enticed my imagination. Who looked at pictures she placed herself in, never knowing she could step out of the pictures and into Tuscany. And now here she was. In the real life pages of the Tuscany.
As my days of anticipation turned to moments of experience and eventually strings of memory, I knew I had to write it down. The more distance I have from their time here, the more I am able to grasp how much I cherished every instant.. I don’t think I can put into words how fortunate I know I am. How we picked up a book on Tuscany on a warm November morning, thick with foreshadow and insight, neither of us with an inkling of knowledge toward the journeys to come.
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