March 17 – Être à Paris

To be in Paris for the first time since my last visit here with Caitlin.

I am in a hotel, by myself, a stop on my way to an artist’s residency for the next couple of weeks. Arriving here, after an overnight flight and taxi ride with a terrifyingly bad driver, I found myself even more in awe of Caitlin and the way she hauled her oxygen concentrator and suitcase full of medicine all the way over here to live by herself for a few weeks, to have that experience, only a year before she would need to be listed for a transplant.

Today, the pain of missing her was terribly close to the surface as I walked to the Marais to meet a friend for lunch. Caitlin is with you, people always say. She is always with you. I know she is, but it’s not the same as laughing and being together in real time. It’s not like visiting museums and having lunch and going to the spa together, like the mother and daughter I found myself watching in my hotel.

As I made my way to the Marais, I took a detour along the Île Saint-Louis, where, during Caitlin’s college days, she and I once rented a little flat for two weeks to get a feel for what it was like to ‘live in Paris.’ (This was before VRBO and Airbnb, when renting an apartment for a short vacation took some effort.)

Today was rainy and the mood was melancholy but I was grateful for the private shelter of an umbrella. I took a left at the street Caitlin and I had jokingly pronounced “the roo of two ponts.” Then I took a right and there I was, on a street that is as it’s been for more years than you or I could know it. Stone residences that date from the 17th century.

Standing there, I remembered our little flat and its long golden drapes that swept away from the window and offered a close-up view of the green waters of the Seine. I remembered how perfect and beautiful our choice to stay there had felt. I felt alone and close to tears.

And then – I remembered the way the Bateaux-Mouches played over-the-top operatic music at that particular bend of the river and how the music was so ridiculously loud that we laughed out loud every single time.

Back then, I took a photo of Caitlin at our window.

Today, I took a photo of today.

There is a hotel in Miami – The Betsy – that is owned by the son of the writer Hyam Plutzik. The hotel’s logo is a line written by Mr. Plutzik, a line comes to me often:

Expect no more. This is happiness.

-Maryanne