In 1996 I was in architecture school in Venice and, with a group of friends, decided to tour Europe in the summer to visit masterpieces. I called my mom, excited to share our plans, which cities we were staying in, and the famous buildings we would visit, and she said, "could I please join you guys? I'd love to see all of this too." And I said, "but mom, we are backpacking, staying at students' hostels, and walking a lot. Are you sure?". She replied, "absolutely, I promise not to bother."
Off we went, running to catch trains, carrying our bags, making the pilgrimage to Ronchamp, and spending hours looking at old buildings. There she was, always with a smile, and not as "my mom" but as another group friend, glooming with joy and enjoying every minute of it. Her laughter! You could find the group just following her laughter.
So many stories of that trip, like when she asked us if we wanted cherries during a long walk knowing that we were all hungry. Only to find that when we all said yes, she climbed a low wall, went to someone's garden, and started collecting cherries. Or when in Champs Elysees, we were tired of walking and saw a place that rented scooters. I asked how much it was, and before the guy gave us pricing, I noticed that she had already handed in her credit card. Not because she didn't care about money but because that experience was priceless.
I cherish the memories of that trip as one of my precious ones. My mom was unpredictable, fun, loving, and a joy to be with. I would love to have another long-distance call and tell her about my next adventure, knowing she'll be right there with me. She'd have turned 79 today, and I celebrate her with these memories. Felicidades Vieja querida.
