Flash back 40 years...

40 (!) years ago today, on a hot, humid morning in July 1983, I boarded a VIA Rail passenger train in London, Ontario, bound for Toronto.  My then-boyfriend/future dh was already on the train -- he'd boarded about two hours earlier in Windsor, further south, where he was studying for his MBA.  

I'd taken the train to Windsor to visit him several times since I'd arrived in London in early May to begin a year-long master's degree program in journalism at what's now called Western University -- but this was my first-ever trip to Toronto (or, as Canadians from elsewhere sometimes refer to it, "The Centre of the Universe," lol -- Americans, think New York City).  He was taking me there for the weekend to meet his family -- also for the first time. 

At Union Station, we were met by his younger brother (now my brother-in-law/BIL), who gave me a big hug.  I couldn't believe that these two were brothers:  BIL, at nearly 6 feet, towered over dh, and his build was much larger/stockier.    

Future dh & future BIL pointed out landmarks I'd only read or heard about or seen on TV as we drove through the streets in a red Volkwagen Rabbit, my head swivelling back & forth. I was struck by the preponderance of brick buildings (something I was not used to, coming from the Prairies, where most houses were made of wood and stucco), the overhead wires, the signs pointing to the subway stations below street level, the streetcar tracks criss-crossing the streets... As we drove down Danforth Avenue through the "Greektown" neighbourhood where dh had grown up (albeit his family is Italian), I saw street signs lettered in Greek characters as well as English. We stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk for a a Greek Orthodox priest all dressed in long black vestments and sporting a long grey beard. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto,"  I muttered to myself.  

When we arrived at the family home, a semi-detached three-bedroom brick house on a leafy street near the Danforth, my future father-in-law was waiting on the porch, along with one of dh's cousins, who'd cycled over from her own family's home a few blocks away. She explained with a smile that she just couldn't wait to meet me. (I've had a warm spot in my heart for her ever since then. :)  )  (It was not quite 8 months since dh's mother had died at the far-too-young age of 53. I never got to meet her.) 

It was future BIL-to-be's 21st birthday -- and the ENTIRE FAMILY -- aunts, uncles and cousins -- I'm talking BOTH SIDES OF THE FAMILY (their mom's and their dad's) -- descended on the house later that evening to celebrate  -- and, I suspected, to get a good look at the "mangiacake." ;)  I could see future dh's aunts checking me out (fortunately for me in a friendly way, lol) and chattering excitedly among themselves. "What are they saying about me??"  I hissed at him. "They're saying, 'She has pierced ears! Just like an Italian girl!' " future dh translated for me, laughing. 

My future sister-in-law -- who had recently started going out with my future BIL, after meeting him at a wedding in April (her cousin was the groom, his cousin was the bride) -- was also there. Later in the evening, the four of us slipped away from the party and strolled down the Danforth, stopping at an Italian bakery for gelato. It was the first time I'd had that particular kind of ice cream, and it tasted soooo good in the intense Toronto heat & humidity.  

None of us had any idea what the next 40 years had in store -- but at that particular moment, the future stretched out endlessly in front of us, and life was pretty good. :)  

Today, my BIL is turning 61. He'll be spending his birthday in a downtown Toronto hospital, where he's (still) recovering from a major transplant operation, thanks to his oldest son (our nephew), who saved his life by acting as donor. It's the first birthday of a whole new lease on life for him. 

(And yes, the thought has occurred to me that if I ever need a similar transplant, I won't have any kids to donate their organs to me -- I'll be stuck in the queue waiting for someone to die so that I can live a while longer on their donated organs. Yikes.)  

I'm no philosopher, but if anything, the past two and half years have drive home the message (and not for the first time) that life is short. And unpredictable. It goes by way, way too fast. One day you're celebrating your 21st birthday, with your whole life ahead of you, and then suddenly, you're in the hospital for an organ transplant. I've had some crappy stuff happen to me these past 40 years -- but some pretty great stuff too -- and overall, I have a very nice life. Even though I don't have the kids that, 40 years ago, I assumed I'd have someday, life is still good, and it's still worth living. (And it's all going by way too quickly...!)