- My dad was raised in North Ireland, and since I was pregnant, I wanted my child to know his heritage.
- When my child was born, my grandmother was 90 years old.
- We couldn’t afford the trip but took it anyway because I needed him to meet my family.
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I had an urge in me to make sure that my child would know about his Irish identity.
I began to ask my father, who was born and raised in the North of Ireland, to repeat old stories he had shared with us as children around the dinner table. I was also born in Ireland, and when I was 3, we moved from Belfast to Boston. My accent quickly faded and the ties to my former homeland were strengthened by regular visits to see family and hearing all of their stories.
I remember sitting on the edge of my seat as he retold stories. Hearing about my father, his five siblings, his Irish father, and his Italian mother getting on with life during a time of war was instantly special.
I wanted my child to know his family.
We couldn’t afford the trip
When my son came into the world, it was nearly time for my grandmother’s 90th birthday. I immediately knew I wanted to get him over to Belfast as soon as it was safe. But, because of medical expenses from disabilities that I gained post-childbirth and the cost of raising a child, I knew we could not afford this trip.
I had recently given my notice to my full-time job. I continued the side gig of writing and editing I had started years ago and scrambled to try to make enough each month to make our savings dwindle at a slower pace. My husband was finishing grad school, which we paid for out of pocket, and worked an administrative job where he was underpaid for his busy days.
Courtesy of the author
But in May, I saw the flights were going down in price, in time for a potential trip before prices went up again for the summer. I wanted my son to meet his great-grandmother and insisted we go. We received some money when my husband graduated, pulled the rest from savings, and bought the tickets.
It was the right decision
From the start, there were so many signs that we made the right choice. At the gate, my husband got the email that he was hired for his first job out of graduate school. Then, my 7-month-old had the flight of our dreams. He entered the plane smiling and laughing, charmed our seat neighbors, and promptly fell asleep for the rest of the flight. But the best part was staying with my grandmother for a week and a half.
Though he was in his stranger-danger phrase, the baby instantly gave my grandmother a smile and reached his arms out for her to hold him. She sang him songs in Italian, told us old stories of her childhood and my father’s, and insisted he always be fed at the kitchen table while we all ate together as a family.
The smallest parts of the trip stayed with my son, who is now a toddler. She taught him how to do the grasping Italian wave and give forehead kisses, which she called playing “zucca.” When he sees her on Facetime, he still immediately beams at the sound of her voice.
One day, as I walked him down the river path with my aunt and partner I felt the familiar glowing feeling that I was home, that I belonged here. Judging from my baby’s eyes sparkling with joy as he watched his aunt talk, I could tell he felt it, too.
Later that year, we took out my 401(k). It was painful but necessary. But no matter how much hardship has occurred since we made the trip, all I can do is watch our finances for the next safest time to take the plunge and go back.
