Being beloved. That’s an experience that I’ve known since I was born. My mother, my father, and my sisters all loved and protected me from the first day of my life. Later, when we had to flee the Nazi invaders, while my father stayed behind to keep on working, it was my mother who tried very hard to find some food, until we finally returned home. How do you explain to a two-year-old that there is no food? My grandmother lost her life in the bombardments while trying to get some food when we were fugitives. Isn’t that love?
Later, when we were threatened with deportation, wasn’t it love that forced my parents to send us to a farm, reasoning that we would be better fed there than in Paris where food was in short supply?
Back home, once my father was taken to a hard labor camp in the Channel Islands, it was my mother’s deep love that made her look desperately for a hiding place away from home and away from the dangers of being arrested by the Gestapo or the French police or militia.
When the war was over, and the danger of being deported disappeared, that love translated into pride for my accomplishments at school and seeing my name on the honor roll. My mother always supported me and encouraged me, and that helped in my school accomplishments.
During summer vacations with my mother on the English Channel or French Riviera, I felt moments of great joy because of the love received from my mother. Even when I went alone with my father to Trouville on the English Channel, love was always present.
Later, when I graduated from the Sorbonne with my English and Spanish translator’s degree, and when I found my first job, this love turned into pride.
A few years later, after I met and married my wife, that love was shared among my parents, my wife, and later my children. Then, after we moved to Africa and spent two years in Cameroon, my wife found an ad in the newspaper and encouraged me to apply for a position as translator at the World Bank. At first, I was skeptical about my chances of getting a job there, but she insisted and finally, I sent my application. It would take another four years for this to materialize, and in the meantime, we relocated to Montreal, where I was offered a position at the International Civil Aviation Organization. But I was determined to be hired at the World Bank, and my perseverance paid off. I got the job I wanted. In the meantime, our two youngest daughters were born in Montreal, and in September 1976, we all moved to Washington, DC. My parents were missing us: That’s how I felt their love for me and my family. After each visit to France, it would take several weeks for my mother to recover from yet another separation. When we were in Africa, and even when we moved to the States, there was no way we could speak to our parents by phone: It was way too expensive. We could only do that on special occasions, and the rest of the time, the only contact we had was through letters. It was easier for me than for my parents. Still, I know how much we missed them, and they missed us.
Today, both of my parents are gone, and we feel the void they left. Every year, on the anniversary of their deaths, my wife, Marcelle, and I feel their absence more painfully. That’s the rule of life, and although we are sad, we accept the march of time. But we still feel the pain. That’s what love is all about. Now, we enjoy the love of our daughters and 11 grandchildren, and they pay us back in love. Our love is directed to these next two generations, and we cannot complain, because we love them, and they love us back. Of course, they are not all close by, but at least, we have our youngest daughter living a few steps from us, and we can enjoy her children, who show us so much affection that it helps manage the separation from the others. We see our grandsons from New York every once in a while, but it is those from Montreal who we miss most, particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic, when we hadn’t had a chance to see them in almost two years. Now, I can feel the pain we inflicted on our parents when we left Paris to discover the world. Still, I have no regrets. We have a good life that is interesting and fulfilling. And a lot of love from our parents, our children, and our grandchildren. That’s what is important.
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