Letters from Grenada

I was planning to explain this later, I was planning to write one last actually-in-Grenada post dedicated to the indelible images of the last few weeks, but enough people have asked the obvious question – WHY? – that I feel compelled to address WHY? before I leave, in spite of the fact that I have so little time left I can barely breathe. (I’m only going to proofread this post once, while I’m writing the first draft. Consider yourself forewarned.)

Who ~

My mom and my son and I are all leaving Grenada together.  Two notable previously mentioned characters are not.  My grandmother, who I’ve mentioned a few times, passed away in November. (The day she died I posted this, but I haven’t yet had the stomach to update my About page.) She died peacefully, at home in her bed in Grenada.  With the indescribably glorious assistance of Thomas La Qua of La Qua Brothers Funeral Home and the Divers Alert Network, we were able to bring her home and bury her next to my grandfather in the plots he bought in 1955 in South Bend, Indiana. (At her funeral I gave a eulogy that I’ll probably post eventually.)

Jack’s father is the second notable character who is not coming with us when we leave Grenada. There are many reasons for this but it boils down to two primary points.  First, he doesn’t want to live in the United States, period. His mental picture of the U.S. consists of a very fast, cold, dangerous place. He is in general rather conservative in his attitude to new things of any kind. (It took me two years to partially convince him that drinking cold things in the morning is not going to cause me to suffer a stroke.) Lyndon would love to visit the States one day – and perhaps he will – but he’d never in a million years feel comfortable living there. I think of Grandpa José, and how he left Puerto Rico for New York when he was 18 and mostly acclimated but never fully. ~ Lyndon is 42.

The second reason is that while I totally love him, plan to keep in touch with him and fully respect the fact that he is Jack’s father, most of the time he just plain old pisses me off.

What ~

I’ve gone back and forth between the States and Grenada literally more times than I can count, once even staying in New York for six months and leaving Jack here with my mother.  (He was 15 months old and it was ridiculously hard on everyone involved. One of his first words was “Skype”.)

This time is different. I want to be clear about that. This time we’re really leaving. I’ve somehow gotten rid of half my clothes, all of my locally-made mahogany furniture, all the books with which I could bear to part and for whom I could secure loving homes, nearly every single piece of clothing Jack has outgrown, half of his toys, kitchen wares, my printer, two DVD players, a TV, an iPod shuffle and three fans. I have culled my once formidable slipper collection down to three pairs. Yesterday we shipped to barrels to JFK via Amerijet. I’m not leaving any “stuff” behind.

This is not to say, however, that we won’t be coming back.  Ideally, I’d like to return to Grenada for a week or two twice a year, forever. I’d like to eventually build a house.  No guarantees, of course, but I’m optimistic and patient.

Where ~

Our first stop will be a suburb of New Haven, Connecticut, where my mom’s brother and his family live.  We’ll stay with them while I look for work and we generally get re-situated. It’s comfortable and roomy there, we’re very welcome, and it’s relatively close to both New York City and Rockland County, where most of the rest of my friends and family are.

We’re not planning to stay in Connecticut, though, or even in the Northeast…

Before I continue, I want to be clear about something.  I don’t live with my mother because I’m some kind of powertool, I live with my mother because it makes sense.  I’m a single mom and she’s a widow and totally mad for her only grandson.  Our arrangement works out well for both of us.  So while I am making compromises (as you’ll see in a minute) I’m doing it because I want to, not out of obligation or necessity.

So. As I was saying. We’re not planning to stay in Connecticut. My mom has only a few requirements re: where she wants to settle. It has to have relatively reasonable (compared to suburban New York) property values.  It has to be relatively warm. And it has to be within a hundred miles or so of the Atlantic coast, as we still have a wooden sailboat to look after.  Once a place meets that criteria, it’s up to me where we buy a house. I chose North Carolina because I have more than three very good friends there, one of whom has a daughter nearly exactly the same age as my son.  I’m applying for jobs all over the state and waiting to see what happens. Left entirely to my own devices I would never have chosen to live outside of New York, but at the end of the day North Carolina is the best thing for everyone. For now.

I am fully aware that I have spectacularly bad timing looking for employment right now, yes. But whatever. I’ve made more out of less in the past, and I have no doubt in my ability to mount a repeat performance.

When ~

Finally, an easy one.  My Air Jamaica flight leaves Grenada around 5AM on Sunday, March 15th, less than three days from now.

WHY? ~

This is the hardest one. WHY? I almost want to save WHY? for another post, except WHY? is the question I’ve been asked the most, WHY? is the reason I’m indoors writing instead of outside on my verandah trying to photograph the crane inspecting the flora planted around the edges of my car park.

There are plenty of things that are inconvenient/annoying/totally fucking creepy about living in Grenada. Examples of inconvenient are the scarcity of diet Coke and lack of public transport at night and on Sundays.  Examples of annoying are unwanted male attention and the bat the reconnoiters my house every night as if it were his first pass.  Examples of totally fucking creepy include superstitions like loupgarou. But after four years I’m pretty accepting of all that and more. It’s petty. It’s nothing new. It’s not why I’m going.

The real question is not why am I leaving. It’s why did I stay as long as I did. Obviously Grenada is beautiful, lovely, idyllic, paradise even. Obviously my heart has put down roots here. Obviously it’s wonderful to live a life that inspires people to tell me I should write a book, a life so (allegedly) fascinating it’s nearly fictional, the stuff of developing-world-chick-lit.

We stayed as long as we did for Grandma.

About five years ago, back when Grandma Vera still had most of her faculties, she made some wishes known to my mother, her eldest daughter.  Vera had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s several years earlier and understood it was possible she’d end up incapable of caring for herself or living alone yet with years still to live. So she made it clear to the family that she did not, under any circumstances, want to end up in a nursing home or even assisted living. I could see in her face that the idea terrified her, and she had legitimate reason to be frightened, as her husband – my grandfather – had died within weeks of moving into a nursing home.

In particular, Grandma appealed to my mother, told her that she wanted to live with her. My mom had recently been widowed and was living on a sailboat in Grenada.  So she rented a house, brought Grandma here in June 2005 and cared for her night and day until she died in November 2008.

I did my best to help, with varying degrees of success.  It was really hard for me. It was hard to watch a person who took care of me when I was a child become a child herself. (Grenadians, in one of their many moments of sheer inspired wisdom, have a saying for this phenomenon, a saying that everyone knows and repeats freely. Once a man. ~ Twice a child.) I’m not proud of the fact that I sometimes got angry or disgusted with her, but I am proud of the fact that she got to leave this world almost exactly the way she wished. (I’m also grateful and humbled that I made peace with her and her transition before she passed.)

Now that Grandma is gone there is no reason for Mom and I to stay in Grenada other than sentimentality and inertia. Our house is comically large and unnecessarily expensive.  I haven’t had a “real” job since before Jack was born, and there are no real prospects in the Caribbean for someone like me.  My mom is retired. We’ve had a very indulgent/healing/necessary/magical four years here. But the party’s over.

As wrenchingly difficult as it is to leave Grenada, my inner voice of reason tells me it’s a good thing that the party’s over. I’m partied out. I miss my friends and family. I miss delis and Target and driving and movie theaters and sushi. I’m ready for the next chapter. I’m restless. I’m ready.

Posted on March 12th, 2009 under Grenada • Tags: backstory, blogging, caribbean, expat, family, Grenada, leaving Grenada, living abroad, love, parkinson's, working abroad. •  Print This Post •  Email This Post • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback