Random Acts of Kindness, Final Goodbyes, and the Remarkable Culture of a Small Northern Ontario City

Hello dear reader,

It has been a very long time since I’ve sat down to write a blog post that’s not of the “How to” or “Where to” or other informative kind. Recent family matters have guided me back to sharing life musings while connecting the dots. Last week, on the day I flew home from Guatemala, my Baba (grandma) passed away. I rarely share personal details here on the blog. Yet, what happened so beautifully weaves travel, life, and the essence of what I love most about these two concepts – connection – together that it feels apropos to share them with you too.

Solo Travel

For all its hype and romanticism, especially on social media, travel can be a lonely endeavour.

Over the past decade I’ve travelled solo and moved abroad numerous times. It’s been thrilling, freeing, eye-opening, validating, energizing, and calming, among many other positive influences. It has also been isolating. There have been moments of self-doubt, yearning for hugs that both release and hold you up, and missing the comfortable silence of known companionship, not to mention the chasm of (un)relatability between you and those at home.

Inevitably, I have experienced each of these temporary phases. That they come and go has been a comfort. I have also come to trust, a lot more than I thought possible, that the universe will take care of us and place good people in our path. Travel has been the biggest teacher and reminder of this truth.

Guatemala, Guilt

For nearly a month between March and April this year I travelled and worked in Guatemala. Every time I explore somewhere new, I send my grandparents a postcard. It’s been a treasured travel tradition for years.

On the second last morning in Guatemala, my siblings and I received a text from our mom saying that Baba (her mom) had been taken to the hospital. This wasn’t unusual. Nearly a centenarian, she frequented the hospital over the last few years. However, less than 2 hours later, Mom texted again. Baba had had a heart attack. Mom and Dad were immediately making the long drive north. Reading that, I knew the situation was different and wished I was home in Canada.

Despite my already scheduled flight home to Toronto the next day, it couldn’t come soon enough. My travel companions had already hopped on their own return flight that morning. I wished I was on the same plane.

The somber knowledge of my Baba’s declining health was compounded by the recently acquired information that one of my brothers had also been in the hospital due to a freak accident. That I hadn’t been there for him – and was oblivious to his ordeal while in Guatemala – was tremendously upsetting. As the eldest sibling and one who strives to be dependable, I had failed.

There is no English word, that I’m aware of, to describe the guilt, pain, and frustrating uselessness of being away when something terrible happens at home. Thankfully, my last day abroad gifted me 2 welcome distractions: teaching my private language students and a dinner with the family of a woman named Lizzie who I had met during my Ontario 160 series.

Children have a magical way of bringing you into the present moment. I was thankful to interact with my students. Spending the evening and having a comfortable place to stay with Lizzie’s family meant a great deal as well. The unusual story of how she and I met on a rural Ontario road during a pandemic and then reconnected 5 years later in Guatemala is for another time. Suffice to say, a family meal spent with her, her husband and toddler, and her parents was exactly what I needed. The fact that it was a trilingual dinner table was all the more wonderful, even as my weary brain muddled through our conversation. Their warmth, hospitality, and kindness, without knowing the home circumstances, really touched my heart.

Angels on the Plane

My flight was set to depart at 5am and land in Canada by 3pm. Despite the predawn transit to the airport, my Uber driver, Denis, was amiable. As we drove by a massive furniture store fire, I couldn’t help but selfishly hope that would be the day’s only disaster. If you’re on Instagram, you already know that the start of my trip wasn’t exactly smooth. Bookending Guatemala this way wasn’t what I’d anticipated either.

At the airport I checked my bag, passed through security, and headed to the gate. For some reason, each of the 4 Avianca flights for Guatemala churned out different seats than those selected during online check-in. So, when at the bag drop counter I requested that my seats be reverted to those previously chosen. I came prepared with screenshots, but was matter-of-factly told by the ticketing agent that unless I paid it wasn’t happening. On principal, I declined. Then, at the layover gate in El Salvador I figured why not ask again for the longer flight home. Again, I was told I’d have to pay. You may think, “why not just pay?”, however I’m stubborn and was also fine to let it go. But, when boarding the plane, I thought, third time’s a charm, why not ask again. Passing the young flight attendant I asked if the plane was full. She responded yes, to which I thanked her and continued to my aisle seat.

As I settled in, the physical tiredness and sadness of being far from family crept up. The plane was nearly ready for takeoff when the same flight attendant came over and asked about my inquiry. I mentioned that I’d booked a window seat online and would have found it easier to sleep, but no worries now. She nodded and walked away. I closed my eyes. Minutes later she returned saying there was one window seat available and I’d have to move right away. Gratefully, I jumped up and changed seats. As luck would have it, the middle seat in my new row was also empty. The moment we rose above the clouds I fell asleep.

For nearly the whole flight, I slept. It was much needed. Upon waking I went to the bathroom. The flight attendant, whose name I learned was Bren, was sitting in the adjacent crew seats. I thanked her for her help, expressing my appreciation for the extra comfort. When I exited the bathroom she and her fellow cabin crew mate, who I assumed was her friend based on their suppressed laughter during the safety demonstration, were chatting. I remarked on how great it was to see people enjoying their job. The three of us conversed in Spanglish and I learned that they were from Costa Rica. They’d be spending the day in Toronto before heading back to work. Having lived twice in the city, I offered to exchange information in case they ever had any questions or wanted a friendly guide.

Back in my seat and contemplating more rest, Bren popped over and asked if I was hungry. I assumed this was because I’d missed the paid food trolley. Though I’d brought snacks, I said okay. She listed off several items and I landed on a sandwich, chips, and a drink. Ready to pay, I asked for the price. No, she responded. She and her friend Maria were buying me lunch. I nearly started crying. I had no idea what prompted their generous offer. They knew nothing about what was happening in my life. This random act of kindness, from strangers whose paths I was briefly crossing, made me feel seen and cared for during an emotional time. It was an incredible feeling.

At the end of the flight, it was all I could do not to bear hug both of them. We took this photo together. It’s one I’ll cherish for a long time.

Final Goodbyes

To get home from Guatemala, there was a short layover in El Salvador. Luckily the hours lined up well with the time difference, allowing me to connect with my mom who had spent the night at the hospital. I also got to speak with Baba. She was in good spirits and asked when I was coming up to visit her. Maybe this was just a close call, I thought.

My brother, the one who had had the accident and was now okay, met me in Toronto. The relief I felt at seeing him, being back in Canada, and the surprise of him meeting me inside arrivals instead of on the curb, opened the flood gates. Immense gratitude welled up and overflowed: gratitude that my brother was okay, gratitude that I was finally home, gratitude for the sleep on the plane, and gratitude for Bren and Maria’s kind gesture.

On the sunny drive along the 401, my brother and I caught up and discussed potential logistics “if”. He lightened the mood, as he skillfully tends to, with witty jokes and upbeat country music. I video called Mom to let her know I’d landed and we were en route home. My Nonno (grandfather) and I briefly chatted, which always lights up my day. They were having lunch at the house and then returning to the hospital. Not long afterwards, my phone buzzed. It was a group call, rare for our family. I answered, excited to see everyone, not putting two and two together. It was Mom and she was in the car with my dad and Nonno. Baba had passed away.

While the news started to sink in, my grief mixed with more gratitude. I was home and with family when receiving the news. I had the chance to speak with Baba earlier that day. Mom had spent the last days together with her mom. Baba had been with family when she passed. How fortunate were the circumstances.

True Community Culture

There is magic and strength in interwoven lives. My mom and dad grew up in a small Northern Ontario city. My mother’s parents were born to immigrants from Italy, Poland, and the Ukraine. Between school, church, music, cultural groups, and work, my parents were deeply involved in the community that helped raise them. There, everyone knows everyone or is related to someone who knows someone that you know. That’s the fabric of smaller cities and towns, for worse and for better. From the time I was little, I have loved sitting around my grandparents’ kitchen table listening to relatives tell stories of the invisible fibres linking them, and by extension my siblings and me, to generations of Saultites. There’s always been a sense of family and city pride, fascination with and excitement in discovering these connections.

Years back, attending another relative’s funeral I witnessed something that, to this day, I’ve yet to see elsewhere. As we processed through town to the cemetery, cars and cyclists stopped, some people even got out and stood on the road, and others held hats over their chest. As a pre-teen, it left a profound impact seeing people pause their day to pay respect to someone who was likely a stranger. It was shocking and touching, a unique aspect of the northern city’s culture.

On the day of Baba’s funeral, it moved me to once again see and receive this public display of support. My siblings, father, and I, (Mom was in a different car) remarked on how this simple act was so special and unique. I wondered aloud if our generation and those after will continue this heartfelt gesture. I hope so.

Reflecting on Relationships

I have found myself reflecting a lot on relationships over the past few years. The different factors that make, change, and break them. How we write their stories, often using one side of the paper. What it means to be a truly good daughter/sister/friend/partner/neighbour. How to show up for people. When and with whom to openly share pieces of ourselves. How to reach out with assistance and also how to ask for it. Knowing when to push or respect boundaries. How to accept when a relationship has run its course. Balancing taking care of oneself while also being there for others. Interdependence. Practicing grace and empathy and an open-mind as we all learn and g(r)o(w).

As a (“recovering”) hyper-independent, single, travelling soul, I have gotten a lot wrong about relationships and connecting with others. Sometimes my mistakes have been out of necessity, sometimes out of indecision, and sometimes because I didn’t know better. I can pinpoint times when I’ve messed up. I’m sure there are more of which I’ve been oblivious.

Major life events, like Baba’s passing, have struck me with important lessons to remember and practice how to build lasting meaningful connections. First, show up. Show up physically or in gestures, however possible. Relatives of my father’s and a dear childhood friend of my mother’s unexpectedly drove hours to attend Baba’s funeral. A cousin’s long ago ex-boyfriend dropped by my grandparents’ house to give his regards and my ex-partner reached out with his condolences. One of my friends sent a card, another gifted me a framed photo of me with my grandparents, another took excellent care of my home, and another asked me to share some of my favourite Baba memories. Each action was deeply appreciated and reminded me to extend the same to others. Second, when you’re not sure what to do, ask. Ask the person, ask someone else, or ask yourself what you would want. Several friends, my sister, and a brother now have children. It has perplexed me to know how to support and celebrate them during this joyous and strenuous transitional time in their lives. I’m sure I’ve let some of them down along the way. Some of my confusion (and thus indecision or inaction) has stemmed from generational, cultural, and personal differences surrounding said milestone. My lack of personal experience in this arena hasn’t helped. The answer I know now is to ask. (And, also, do.) And third, if at first you don’t succeed, try again. Some relationships run their course and we walk away with memories and lessons to guide future connections. There are close friendships I no longer have that I still mull over. There are interactions with strangers where I could have done better. Other relationships ebb and flow, gaining bruises from lessons learned and strength from grace granted for another chance to improve. Those are unicorns and to be treated with the utmost care. Try always with good intention and an open heart and mind.

In Conclusion

My Baba’s passing, and the circumstances around it while travelling, have been simultaneously sad and uplifting. Baba lived a full, complex, and beautiful life. She was married for just shy of 71 years. She was the loving, strong matriarch of our enthusiastic family. I have countless memories with her that I’ll cherish. She’ll continue to exist with us in spirit and thought, in the ladybugs and “Baba birds”, and in the lessons she passed on (“only boring people get bored”, always say yes to a water fight, music, gardening, and sequins are good for the soul, cabbage rolls are a love language, and taste testers are excellent sous-chefs, to name a few). Travelling home, my path was lined with caring, thoughtful individuals, reinforcing my belief that people are good and the universe puts others in our path (and us in theirs) for a reason. I’ve long said that everything we do matters and has a ripple effect connecting us to the bigger picture. These journeys home are the perfect representation of this truth. They are also the inspiration for my deep desire to see and learn more from the world and to continue sharing stories with all of you.