Last Piece of the Puzzle

If you’ve tagged along for this clown car ride for any length of time, you may still remember the High School Frathouse portion of my greater life story. (If not, go read it first. I’m going to skip most of the background droll here). You probably remember that “Sweet Baby M” was my favorite of the babies. The youngest in the house, he took to Bob and me, and was smart enough to play on his status of favorite.

The Frathouse was always bustling with some sort of activity, as could be expected with more than a dozen teenagers about. There were games, gaming, homework, always cooking. And a puzzle.

Martín got out the puzzle and started putting it together on the living room coffee table. Everyone was welcome to come and sit and work on it, as it was a nice time to have a little conversation with the adult house parents, and then keep on moving. But Martín had set up base-camp on the love seat in the living room, so he was always there, ready to have a talk and sort out the pieces; literally and figuratively.

I was only at the Frathouse Thursday through Sunday, so opportunity for me to work on the puzzle was limited. And none of the kids would touch it unless I was there. So it became that I spent a good little bit of time in the living room with the kids instead of downstairs in the adults’ quarters. Frank would come sit usually at least once each weekend, have a short chat, fill in a piece or two, then go about his way. Sleepy Jeff, Shirtless Joe, and Thien would all usually make a quick appearance as well. Even the other house parents would help. But Martín? Always there.

The days of assembling the puzzle began to add up to weeks, and probably months. It took so long to put this dang puzzle together that I’ve tried to block it from my mind. I mean, really. How long should a one-thousand-piece puzzle actually take??? The tiny little houses, the ripples on the black water, the shrubs. Everything seemed like minutiae.

Then one weekend it finally happened. The puzzle was assembled! Well, as best it could be. There was apparently some give and take between puzzle boxes in the house, but we’ll let that slide. It was a finished product of a beautiful mountainside painting of some far away place that I’d never heard of or go to, if it even really existed. I figured it was just a painting someone created from their imagination. I also had a few words for Sweet Baby M. If you ever so much as bring home another…..

Now, don’t take me wrong, I so much enjoyed time with the kids. Even the shortest of conversations were wonderful. Getting to know them and their culture and life and family a little more was heartwarming. It helped build a level of trust between the adults and kids, and we were thankful. I have the fondest memories of sitting around that table with that puzzle. But still. Martín, I swear you better not start another puzzle!

Much time has passed since my Frathouse days, and my life has changed. (You can follow that path in my blog, if you can stand it. It may make you want to put your thumb in your eyeballs). I don’t act like my life, the past, didn’t happen, and I don’t shy from talking about it, obviously. But here is where my life’s paths cross themselves.

A few months ago my sweet husband, Joseph, said we were heading to Italy in the spring. Ok, who am I to argue with that??? Let’s go! He began planning a whirlwind trip through Italy, and decided that since we wanted to see so many places, we’d drive. He began to lay out the path, with plans to see Milan, Venice, Ancona, Rome, Pisa, Florence, and some place called the Cinque Terra. The what?!?! I’d never heard of. Come to find out, it’s a string of 5 little towns nestled in the mountains on the rough shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea. He said it’s all beautiful there and we just had to go see it and stay there on our way from Florence to Milan. Ok, again, who am I to argue? He said, “pull it up online and let’s look. There’s one little town in particular that is the one we should go to. Look it up.” Ok, ok, I’ll look it up. Take out my phone, Google the Cinque Terra, start scrolling, stop cold.

I cannot believe my eyes. In the pictures of the little towns, there it is. The puzzle. An exact photo of the puzzle we put together years ago. In the Cinque Terra. I was speechless and could not believe my eyes. What is this? Why is it here? Is this real???

Of course, The Lawyer is looking at me like I have three eyeballs, but I don’t care. It takes me a minute to compose myself. And then I tell him everything I told you I’m the last five minutes. And now his eyes are wet, too.

I started naming the towns in the 5. Joseph stopped me when I said Manarola. Yes! That’s it! And yes.

that’s it.

the puzzle.

Manarola is the puzzle.

Manarola is the town he wanted to go to and couldn’t remember the name. My internal worlds collide. And the tears begin.

“Well, that’s it. We are definitely going there,” he said. No questions. Done.

So, we did.

And it was the most magical place.

I walked in that puzzle.

Breathed in the air in that puzzle.

Looked over the balcony, watched the townfolk go by. stood in that puzzle.

Cried overlooking that puzzle.

Perfectly breathed into my life. Orchestrated as if it had to happen.

It was a surreal moment, punctuated with the most lovely people. Tatyana, Paulo, the other guests, all converging into a crash like the waves on the rocks of my life. On the rocks of Manarola. Cold as the Tyrrhenian sea that my fingers dipped in. Warm as the cappuccino at sunrise.

The Lawyer had given me the most beautiful, perfect, no words to describe it, once in a lifetime experience. And I got to walk in the puzzle.

Martín, don’t you dare bring home another puzzle! But, thank you for the one you did. And thank you, Joseph, for bringing this circle full. Thank you for helping me realize the puzzle is a real place, and for letting me trod within. Perfection is a less than perfect word for it. But it shall do.