"See you in August"

 "See you in August"

When I left Louisiana in early May 2025, that was my catch phrase for every conversation with my terminally ill mom. I spent my last spring day in Louisiana with her, and when I hugged her goodbye, she wished me a safe trip, and I left with the words "See you in August" floating in the air.

And with that, I departed Louisiana, first for North Carolina and then for Europe, for a total of 94 days, and I thought I would never see my mother again. I was prepared to miss her funeral - with her blessing - and I'd prepared my siblings for not seeing me there.

You see, my mom gave me her love of travel. She told me long ago that if I was on a trip when she died, that I should not come home. "There's nothing you can do for me then." When she was actually terminal, I confirmed with her that she was still okay with this ... and then my elaborate summer trip planning began in earnest.  

My parents on their wedding day,
leaving for their honeymoon.

I've always loved maps. I loved reading adventure stories and following along with travels to the Antarctic, to Africa, to the North Pole. So my mom apparently also bestowed her love of geography and of history, though I didn't realize these latter two until I began traveling on my own.

I began my Curated in Residence 2025 in Scotland, returning to a land I'd once visited with my mother and my son. One of my mom's life dreams was to visit Scotland. And on our trip there 12 years ago, in 2013, we saw as much as we could see in just a few days: historic Edinburgh, Glencoe, Inverness, and of course Loch Ness.

And I? I fell in love with this beautiful country, part of my mother's ancestry -- and mine. 

And when I returned to Scotland for three weeks in 2025, I expanded my reach from Inverness up through the northern Highlands up to the Scottish Isles of Orkney and Shetland, ending in Mom's beloved Edinburgh. I sent Mom pictures frequently, and, yes, I ended our weekly phone calls with "See you in August."

Mom and Daughter at a 1950s themed party in 2011.
Mom loved the classic cars there!

Mom's health began declining rapidly, and yet at the end of every phone call, as we were saying our goodbyes and I love yous, I always ended with "See you in August."

In July, I moved on, to France and Switzerland, visiting Notre Dame in Paris, the Olympic Museum in Lausanne, the Montreux Jazz Festival on Lake Geneva. I walked in French river gorges, peeked at Italy over the Swiss Alps, gazed at the Matterhorn from my Zermatt hotel window, and walked inside a glacier in Chamonix.

I sent my mother pictures. She was not always feeling well enough to respond to them, but she eventually looked at all of them. My mother was most amazed about my walking inside a glacier. She showed the picture to all her friends who came to visit. And when I talked to her on the phone about it, she said she'd walked on a glacier but never inside one.

Mom as a school girl.

As we ended that conversation in late July, she was very tired, and I said, "I'll tell you all about it in August." She said she thought she would be gone by August, recently home from her final hospitalization, home to die with her beloved cat Henry, in the place where she was most comfortable. She said bye and that she loved me. I simply said, "Bye Mom, I love you, I'll see you in August."

And then I went through a box of tissues.

By this time, my summer trip was almost over, and I still thought I would miss her funeral. She was expected to live a few days after returning home from the hospital. My husband met me in Zurich, and we finished the trip in August after a few nights each in Budapest, Hungary, and Zagreb, Croatia. I was glad he was he was there, as I would need someone to console me when my mother's last breath finally arrived.

Three generations plus a husband:
Mom, Daughter and Husband, Grandson

But as our departure from Croatia loomed, my mother was still breathing, still coherent, still with us. So I contacted the airline to change my flight so I could arrive in Louisiana instead of North Carolina. Impossible, they said. 

But there was a still a possibility that I would get to see my mom one more time. We all felt like she was waiting for something, maybe me.

So on the 95th day from the last time I'd seen her, after 94 days of being away from home, less than 11 hours after landing on the East Coast, I got in my car and drove straight to my mother's bedside. Among the first things she said to me were "Welcome home!" and "I'm glad you went on that trip. I wanted you to go." and "I can't believe you walked inside a glacier!"

I stayed with my mother for a few hours, spent the night, and visited again the next day. And again. And again. 

I stayed at our house across the river, in Baton Rouge, and for more than a month, I drove to her bedside almost every day I was in Louisiana. I spent more time with my six adult siblings than I had in recent years, perhaps since my childhood. We all loved our mother very much.

Mom at her graduation from the
Hotel Dieu School of Nursing.

It was hard to watch my mother's drastic decline from my arrival on August 10 to her death on September 13, but every day when I'd leave, I shared a new saying. Instead of "See you in August," it was simply "See you tomorrow."

Finally, the last tomorrow arrived. And now, there's no more seeing my mother. 

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