On Tuesday my daughter Aimee moved back to Vancouver after living in Victoria for six years, four of which were spent in the little apartment we built for her in our basement. Two hours after she left, I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest, I missed her and her little dog Kirby so much already. Intellectually I knew I would be okay. Eventually. But not right now. Not Tuesday.
My granddaughter Abby came over from Vancouver to help her mom move. She would be behind the wheel of the white cube van they rented for the occasion. As a Paramedic she was well versed in the art of driving big vehicles through the busy streets of Vancouver. By 11am they were locked and loaded and ready to catch the one o’clock ferry. By then I had a lump the size of a grapefruit growing in my throat. I could barely breathe. It’s not easy stuffing your emotions and suppressing tears. I didn’t want to put a damper on their excitement. No one enjoys the company of a Debbie Downer. It was important to me that I not be that person.
My feelings were so conflicted on Tuesday. And still are. On the one hand I am so very happy for my daughter and granddaughter. They would now be living within walking distance of each other after six years of being separated by the Georgia Strait. But on the other hand, I am sad to have my daughter back living on the other side of that water and not have her nearby.
When Aimee moved into the micro-suite downstairs, it was important to me that Eric and I respect her boundaries and privacy. To think of her space as being across the city not twenty steps away. I think we were very successful with that over the four years. We were here if she needed us (and vice versa). Just a text or door knock away. We weren’t in each other’s business. I’m proud of that. Aimee’s a grown-ass woman with a full life of her own. However, we did employ a mi casa, su casa arrangement with her. The doors to the “big house”, as she often referred to the upstairs, were always open for Aimee to walk in any time, for any reason. We were family, after all.
Even though we didn’t get up in each other’s faces I felt her presence in our home daily. I was aware of when she came and went. Not in a nosy or intrusive way. It was just something intuitive that I felt more than witnessed. Some days when I was sitting on the couch staring out the window, I saw her across the street walking Kirby or chatting with fellow dog walkers she had befriended. And on the days that she worked at the office or was out and about I loved seeing her coming up the street towards our house. Coming home. Or, on Friday nights I would catch a glimpse of her and my daughter-in-law D chatting in the car after their dance class. I loved listening to her practice her flute. The sound of her laughter. And the smell of her cooking as it wafted upwards. Kirby’s chirpy bark. All divinely ordinary but beautiful memories I will cherish forever.
Yesterday, as Aimee was finishing up her packing, I asked if she would like one of the whimsical teapots from my collection. I had just returned from my hometown in Northwestern Ontario and had brought back Ma’s fine and fancy set of dishes that had been sitting in storage for over twenty-five years. Aimee’s apartment in Vancouver was built in 1912, and these vintage dishes were perfect for the look she was going for.
With Abby’s input Aimee chose her teapot. Orange Kitty, who had been sitting on my kitchen nook windowsill since we moved into our house over twenty years ago, was the winner. It was a no-brainer really. As Aimee was wrapping Orange Kitty, we shared the story behind the teapot’s name with Abby.
There are two parts to this kitty tale.
Part One: When Aimee was a wee girl, she had an imaginary kitten named Orange Kitty. This was in the Toronto Days. During the summer I would put young Aimee into her umbrella stroller and walk her around the Italian/Greek/Spanish/Jamaican neighborhood where we lived. Most days we would end up at this park with a slide and swings. Aimee would climb to the top of the slide, and before she slid down, she would carefully place her imaginary Orange Kitty in front of her on her lap. I stood at the bottom and caught them both ensuring their safe landing. Aimee engaged in long conversations with Orange Kitty for years. I never questioned this reality of hers. I loved how her imagination worked. And still do.
Part Two: Flash forward to a couple years before we moved to Victoria. One afternoon, Aimee came bounding in the front door full of excitement over the stray cat who gave birth to a litter of kittens under the front steps of one of our neighbour’s houses down the street. We already had two cats, so I wasn’t crazy about the idea of bringing another one into the fold. I didn’t want to immediately shut the request down by flat-out saying ‘no’ so instead I said if one of the kittens is an orange tabby you can have it. I remember secretly applauding my ingenuity at such a clever strategy. I mean what were the odds that one of the kittens would be an orange tabby? And that’s the story of how Billy came into our lives. Aimee manifested her imaginary Orange Kitty into the real thing.
To this day, she has this supernatural ability to turn dreams into reality. That’s really what she is doing in Vancouver. That, and sipping tea from one of her Gran’s fancy teacups with Orange Kitty sitting on the table next to her. I look forward to joining her there.
