Come Home – Come Home now!

Jan Miller | Apr 29, 2020

My husband, Dick, and I have become snowbirds, wintering in a little slice of paradise on Lake Chapala, Mexico. Many retired Canadians and Americans flood into the area every year for up to six months at a time.

Our conversations are about the next local events or who you go to for massage or other personal care services. Plans are made for shopping in the local produce markets or going out to one of the many restaurants. Life is simple.

In early March we hear about a virus that is spreading in China. As we walk the Malecon, in the evening listening to the birds of Mexico and enjoying the sunsets, we talk about the messages we are getting from family. Their schools are extending March break for a second week due to the virus. “Oh well,” we say, “We don’t go back until March 31st. It should be resolved by then.”

March 13th, we find out we will have to go into self-quarantine when we return. It’s actually sounding better to stay here than to go home. Nothing is happening here. What’s so bad about staying in paradise?

A day later messages from our kids say, “Would you consider coming home early? We’re worried about you.” We sit by the pool, a wall of bougainvillea on one side and surrounded by different kinds of flowing trees, plants and palm trees. I can’t stand to be the cause of my children’s stress. But we agree they don’t know how safe it is here.

March 16th, we get several messages with links to Trudeau’s message about coming home now while you still can. Followed by a message from our son, Chris, “Come home – come home now!” This followed by pleas from our daughter and daughter-in-law, whose parents just made it out of Spain before it shut down. “Now if my in-laws came home, I’d be worry free.”

I feel myself caving. Dick digs in his heels. He doesn’t like to be ordered around. Now I’m torn. It’s not easy keeping everyone happy. Our daughter Lisa, says West Jet is suspending all international flights. She doesn’t care about our perfect flight times on the 31st of March and that we don’t go through the USA. “There are worse things than Donald Trump out there,” she replies.

Now flights are being cancelled and there is no way to contact airlines or our booking agent. When I tell Dick, I’m going to a travel agent and booking a ticket to go home, he wisely decides that the kids would kill him if he let me travel on my own. We get tickets for the 22nd and my kid’s relief validates the extra expense and inconvenience.

Things start shutting down in Mexico and the day before we leave the government telling everyone to stay at home. Our Mexican airline stops international flights on March 24th.

I love this area and the people. But it is time to go home.

The chaos at the airport with cancellations and last-minute changes reminds us we’re not home safe until we land in Toronto. Finally, we settle in our aisle seats near the back of the plane. Dick is on his own while I have one empty seat beside me. A man slouches, eyes closed in the window seat, not moving.

The thing about being together for almost fifty years is the ability to communicate with each other only with our eyes. I look at my seat companion and then back at Dick. His eyes twinkle, he’s not dead, just sleeping. Coming down the aisle is a couple, loaded down with bundles. Dick looks towards the back of the plane, surely there are seats further back. No such luck. The bundles turn out to be 4-month-old twins. Dick looks at me, OMG! The family jams themselves into the two remaining seats.

After a few jabs in his ribs and apologies from the exhausted mother, Dick gazes at the empty seat beside me. As I see his desperation, I glance at the seat and nod, okay let’s see what happens. He climbs in beside me. No one shows up. The couple are grateful and although the babies cry and fuss, they are not like those babies that scream like they’re being stuck with a pin. Once in awhile they have a snooze and I enjoy the peace. Sleeping is out of the question and I’m not convinced the man at the window is sleeping. He still hasn’t moved.

On arrival we are met by airport security wearing masks and gloves, handing out a sheet explaining Coronavirus. They direct us to keep two meters apart and go straight home and stay there for 14 days!” We try to do some form of distancing but arrive in baggage claims and all our best intentions are lost as we try to retrieve our luggage.

The Mega bus shelter is jammed with people as it’s raining. I try not to think of the woman’s voice out of the speakers in the terminal, “please stay 2 meters apart, no physical contact.”

Our family stocked our home with the basics and brought our car to the bus terminal. We waved at them across the parking lot as we packed up and headed home. Thank God for quarantine, we’ll probably sleep for a week.

The neighbours offer to pick up anything we need. We can order groceries from Foodland, Food Less Travelled and Gilmour’s meats and takeout from local restaurants. Volunteers deliver our food and mail to our door. We watch the news about a country where people are beaten who ignore quarantine orders. We’re grateful that our community uses kindness and support for making our quarantine easy.

The ice goes out of the lake, the animals and birds return. Our resilient daffodils and hyacinths poke their heads out amidst some snow flurries.

Yes, we’re home, in another one of our little slices of paradise.