An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
I CALLED MY older daughter, Blair, and gave her the terrible news. I couldn’t reach her sister, Bret. Then I phoned a couple of old and good friends who’d known Mother well, and with whom I could voice my disbelief, horror, and pain.
We spent the rest of the morning trying to get a flight home on Delta Airlines. We already had return tickets for May (which we actually hadn’t planned to use). Now they were our way home for my mother’s funeral. Marseille was the closest airport, so we would drive there, leave the car, and fly to Paris. But we couldn’t get there in time to get out of Paris that day, so we would spend the night at our wonderful Hotel Saint Germain (the staff there immediately offered help) and leave Paris the next. The staff of the Hotel de Cacheral outside of Stes-Maries-de-la-Mer also were great. They immediately said we could leave all of our things there, and helped us move them to the owner’s house in a guest room, so they would be safe until we returned to claim them.