Do you believe in destiny?
One week into the New Year of 2023, my paternal grandmother passed. That day was remarkably beautiful. Crisp blue skies and a freshly arrived cold front made South Georgia feel like it was the perfect place to be on that January day. I was in Thomasville to photograph my childhood best friend’s cozy backyard wedding. The details surrounding the wedding were thoughtful and personal, and I was visiting with people I had not seen in many years… people who knew my grandmother. It felt poetic and almost fated - to be surrounded by the people that knew her and a past life I now lived so far away from, on that particular day. She and I had a relationship that wasn’t immensely deep, but still left quite the impact on me. Much more than I had previously ever been aware of. My memories with her had always been few and far between, I was 9 years old and sleeping over at her high-rise condo that overlooked Old Tampa Bay. She’d serve me a bowl of plain pasta with butter and a sprinkle of salt on the top for dinner and I’d marvel at her glass shelves filled with the treasures she had returned home with from her travels around the globe. We’d lay in her bed together and watch the travel channel late into the evenings, and for hours she would show me her photo albums, jewelry, and silk scarves. Her home felt more like a museum than a place for a kid to play but I didn’t mind one bit. It was curated, worldly, and beautiful.
In my early twenties I stood at her bedside and proudly declared that I had finally made it to New York City and I had loved it. I was a thriving fashion student, and she had become bedridden in an assisted living facility to first a broken hip, and then later a disease. She had always told me that she loved New York City, and she would visit quite often. But, with the declaration of her love for New York City always followed her even deeper passion for France. More times than I can count she has told me “When you get the chance, you have to go to France, oh I just love the French”. Then she would continue on to recount her story of turning 21 and leaving home to board a streamliner ship that was bound for Europe. She was sure of herself, and never looked back. Spending many years abroad, which led to her eventual meeting my grandfather in Germany. She reflected on her time in France with the kind of magic, appreciation, and wonder that only one does when they follow their heart. And I was eager to listen to her stories with wide-eyes and excitement for the possibilities as my own dreams brewed.
For the last several years of her life she didn’t know who I was and on many occasions, she hardly knew who my dad was. The visits had grown to be more and more painful as I watched her ability to recognize and recall fade from her face. As I read her obituary a few days after her passing, I realized I had loved a woman I truly never had the opportunity to fully know. Our timelines to connect just barely missed by only a handful of years. The pursuit of her life passions were what she had cherished the most, and many were reminiscent of what I have envisioned for my own life. Her most cherished being the 40+ Countries she visited around the world.
A few months ago I was standing in line to board a flight at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris and a tall slender older French woman stood ahead of me. She wore a navy blue blazer with simple gold earrings, her graying brunette hair neatly secured in a bun at the back of her head, and a scarf tied skillfully around her neck. The scent of her perfume drifted past me and in that moment of studying her, I realized that she looked exactly like my grandmother. She always embodied that French woman elegance - the kind that can’t be bought, and I always loved it.
As I boarded my flight bound for the French Alps I couldn’t help but smile and wonder to myself, what would she think today to know that I am moving to France.
