Bidding Farewell
It was a moderately cool day last Christmas Eve when my mother announced at breakfast that she was going to visit my Grandmother. I had nothing in the works that morning, and, on a whim, I asked if she wanted company. I can claim no clairvoyance of any sort, nor could I have comprehended the fact that I would see her only twice more after this. It was an amusing visit for myself, at least. While Meme, as we called her, chattered rapidly to my mother in French, I attempted to decipher what little I could while, every now and then adding my contribution when the conversation relapsed into a broken mix of English and French, which I find far easier to understand. I've spent a great portion of my life listening to conversations like this. If there's one foreign language I can recognize right off the bat, it's French. If there's one language I can pronounce relatively smoot...