Yes, I’m France again—I took the convenient Ottawa-Paris Air France flight last Thursday, after Thanksgiving and the two birthdays.

No, no relative has died or is actively dying in France, thank you for asking. This trip isn’t a last-minute decision, I bought the tickets when we came back from China this summer.

“France again? Why?” everybody asked. The short answer is because I can. Plane tickets aren’t terribly expensive in October and I can work from anywhere, so it’s business as usual for me.

I ended up in Canada 23 years ago and I stayed for many reasons but this doesn’t mean I cut all ties with France. I don’t mind the country, and I have French relatives I care very much about.

My parents were my age when I came to Canada. My sister was Mark’s age and my brother was even younger—I missed their childhood and their teenage years. I missed many milestones and most big moments, good or bad. I’m so used to learning bad news by email or text message that my heart drops to my stomach the second I read a sentence starting with “I’m sorry.”

So now, when I can, I try to be here.

Last year, I went to France in October because I strongly suspected my beloved mamie wouldn’t make it through the winter.

She didn’t. I’m glad I spent time with her almost until the end—I missed her funerals but I was here when it mattered.

Now, it’s time to take care of the people who died or rather of the mess it created. Folks, don’t die without a will. Why do you ask, of course, I don’t have a will, I have yet to find my way! But if you’re turning 80 or 90, you may want to consider it, just saying.

I’m going to help my mum deal with the estate but I have a side mission too—I want to find out who mamie really was and what she was hiding.

Everybody’s got a story. I know hers—or rather, I know the story she told us.

Except it doesn’t make sense on so many levels.

It’s time to find out the truth if I can.