Home At Last

A large crowd had gathered to meet my plane, I could see them waiting by the tarmac as Jonathan Palmer brought the Baron to a halt. I was gripped with both exhaustion and fear; exhaustion from lack of sleep and food, fear from what I now had to face. My main concern was for my children as well as my mother, I wanted to have time with them in the privacy of our home, but many people had come to witness my arrival and my urge to be alone with just family had to wait. Everyone was subdued, the plane crash and subsequent deaths had shocked the entire Island, and I did my best to respond as the crowd offered condolences. It still seemed so unreal, I felt like an actress in a bad movie I wanted no part of!

Finally, we were driven home from the airport to our house at Belmont, my mother trying her best to tell me what had happened as I held onto Vanessa and Rachel, both of whom looked hollow-eyed and dazed. My brain felt overloaded, and it was hard for me to fully comprehend what mom was saying – it had been a long, confusing two days, and I needed some sleep. I was sorely mistaken if I thought there would be any chance of privacy at home, the house was chock-full of people who had taken it upon themselves to cook and clean in anticipation of my arrival, and those who hadn’t made the trek to the airport lined the porches to welcome me. It was nice of everyone to be so caring, but I really REALLY just wanted them to leave.

Theolinda was there, a loyal parishioner and friend of my parents, and, before I had a chance to resist, she took me by the arm and pulled me into the kitchen. Like any good Bequia matriarch she had made food, and lifted the lid of a large pot to proudly show me the soup she had prepared just for me. Sticking straight up from the pot was a chicken foot, looking for all the world like the hand of a skeleton, and I recall screaming at the gruesome sight. Needless to say, I didn’t want to eat any soup, and hope she eventually forgave me.

That night I felt like everyone wanted a piece of me, pieces I was unable to give. Some had obviously been at my house for a while, especially the well-meaning friend who declared she had scrubbed my kitchen tiles with a toothbrush! People were still pouring into the house, many bearing alcoholic beverages as if attending a party, and my heart sank at the prospect of accepting their presence and remaining polite. They meant well, but part of me was still in England, the time difference on top of everything else was taking its toll, and I was overwhelmingly weary.

It was obvious I could not just go to bed, I had better manners than that, but I could at least have a shower and get out of the soiled clothing I had worn while traveling. Zoe followed me to the bedroom, and excitedly led me to a strange-looking vase on my bedside table. Zoe worked for Mac and me, and therefore knew which side of the bed I slept on.  She had placed the vase where it would be the last thing I saw at night before falling asleep, and the first thing I saw in the morning on awakening. Bless her soul, she had gone to the sight of the ‘plane crash over on the mainland and gathered foliage that had been scorched by the burning fuel, something I found creepy and downright ghoulish!  Once again I screamed, this time yelling “get it out of here! Get it OUT!”  Poor Zoe, she had tried so hard to please me, and had managed to do something that seriously freaked me out.

Cultural differences come into play in situations such as this, West Indians take a more up-close and personal interest in death than North Americans do, something I already knew but hadn’t expected to experience personally for many years to come. At the age of thirty-eight I was confronted with these differences, and found myself dreading the funerals of Mac and dad. It was not going to be easy, that’s for sure!