The Things We Cannot Say(44)

I asked Julita a while ago and thought for some time that she might join me, but she is so busy with her new job now, and besides, now I will need her to look after Pa if I am to go away.
If you can spare me the time, perhaps we could take two weeks to visit the home of my ancestors and to try to find some information for me. It would mean the world, Alice, truly. We could go as soon as you graduate, and perhaps we could take a trip to Paris or Rome so you can see some more of Europe as an expression of my gratitude to you.
Love always,
Babcia
I’m cast immediately back into the timing of this letter—the most tumultuous time of my life. Pa had just been diagnosed with dementia—just a few weeks after Mom was appointed to the district court. Dad was still working as an economics professor at the University of Florida but talking about retiring so he could travel—without Mom, given he’d finally accepted she was serious when she said she was hoping to work until her brain or body gave out. Wade was finishing his second graduate degree and working in his first full-time job.

And then when my final results came in, there was a marked decline in my academic performance in the final semester of my degree, because I was spending most of my waking hours obsessing about how to tell my family that instead of taking an internship the following school year, I’d be becoming a mom.

I look up from the letter now, and my vision is blurred as I drag myself back to the here and now. Babcia is looking at me expectantly, and I feel a crushing sense of grief for the missed opportunity. If she’d sent the letter, I’d have gone with her anyway—pregnant or not. Even so, I’m not surprised that she didn’t ask once she knew I was about to become a mom. Babcia has always respected this singular focus I want to have for my family.

Now Babcia awkwardly picks up the other letter with her left hand, and she drops it near to me on the tray table. I open it very carefully—this is clearly much older than the first letter. Even unfolding the rough, aged paper, I fear it’s going to fall to pieces. It feels like something I should handle while wearing cotton gloves, while standing in a museum.

Most of the ink has faded, and only the bottom few lines of the letter are still vivid. It’s in Polish, although it’s so light I’m not sure even someone who did read the language could make much sense of it. I can barely make out the first few lines—but I can see the name at the bottom. Tomasz.

I look at her blankly, but she’s silently crying now, and she reaches across to very gently take the older letter from my hands. She folds it again, then rests it on the tray table. Tears flow freely down her cheeks, but she wipes her face with the back of her hands and reaches with some determination for the iPad. She has all of the icons she needs saved into her favorites screen, so it takes only a moment for her to start our conversation.

Alice.

Find Tomasz.

Alice plane Poland. Alice plane Trzebinia.

Babcia fire Tomasz.

She looks at me expectantly, then hits the your turn button. My heart sinks all over again as I take the iPad. My hands tremble a little as I peck out my response.

Babcia no plane—

She impatiently snatches the iPad from me.

Yes. She types, and I think we’re in an awkward argument, until she spends the next several minutes correcting me as she accesses the icons from the recently used screen.

Babcia sick.

Babcia old.

Babcia no plane.

Alice plane.

Alice plane Trzebinia.

Find Tomasz.

Babcia fire Tomasz.

“But... I can’t go to Poland, Babcia,” I protest aloud, forgetting for a moment that it’s pointless to do so. She hits the repeat button on the iPad, then looks at me, and when I simply stare at her as I try to figure out how to explain to her how insane this is, she presses repeat again, and then again.

Then she puts the iPad down, crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me stubbornly. Her chin is raised. Her jaw is set. Babcia looks exactly like my daughter did last night when I walked through my front door.

“But...” I protest weakly. I couldn’t leave Callie and I couldn’t leave Wade—and I definitely couldn’t leave Eddie. I can’t even begin to imagine how I could make that work. Wade would never take time off; Eddie would never adjust to my absence; Callie would act up too—God, it would be a nightmare for all of them. Besides, I’m still not sure what question Babcia wants me to answer. Who are these people? What the Hell is Babcia fire Tomasz supposed to mean? Say I flew all the way across the world for her, what would I even do when I got there?

Babcia can either read my mind, or she’s thinking the same thing. She swipes back to the home screen on the iPad and finds the FaceTime button, then she points to the icon, and then looks at me again. When I look at her blankly, she swipes over to the camera button, then she jabs at it, and she opens the photo roll. It’s empty because this is Mom’s iPad and she’s not really the Grandma-paparazzi sort, but I get the message anyway.

My grandmother wants to see her homeland one last time.

Babcia passes me the iPad now, and I open the AAC and swipe vaguely through the icons, wondering how I’m supposed to use this limited language to say “there’s no way in Hell I can arrange to fly to Poland and take some photos for you, especially not on short notice, and we have no idea how long you have left so I’d have to go straightaway anyway.”

How do I tell the woman who offered me endless love and acceptance for my entire life that the first favor she’s ever asked of me is one I have to decline? How do I tell a person who’s given me everything that the one thing she wants from me is too much? The answer comes swiftly.