P.S.

A small boy at the Battle of Passenchendaele - background at the War Museum in Ottawa

At the end of our more than five hours on the train today, the woman across the aisle took Eli's hand and said, "You were such a good boy - are you always so quiet?" My jaw dropped and I said, "Really?!" It was a long hard journey for a small boy with a bad cough who'd been through the wringer - back and forth, several beds, many relatives, not nearly enough interesting places to climb. The whole trip is a blur; we were at the centre of a tornado - Hurricane Eli. But he WAS a good boy, if exhausting, stubborn and extremely opinionated. How can someone who wasn't even on the earth 3 years ago be such a fierce and commanding presence? But then, he's his mother's son, and the force of her personality shone through from birth.

It was worth it all to watch Do and Eli make friends and to spend time with one of the last links to my English past. We are close to the second anniversary of my mother's death on Christmas Day 2012; I'm grateful that her sister Do is soldiering on, as Mum used to say. The other day, she told me, a curtain came down and she got out her stepladder and tried to put it back. "I was fine," she said. "I put my phone near the ladder in case something happened."

We had a visit with my brother and his son and beautiful wife across the river in Quebec; he and I are still dealing with my mother's estate, some disagreements trying to get it done. We moved another step along this time. Anna, Eli and I ended up staying at his house last night, the 3 of us in their spare room, and at 4 a.m. my mind was still racing as I dealt with all that stuff. Family - not easy. But then - what is?

I'll tell you what is - COMING HOME.