I don’t have Writers’ Block. Every day I see things or have thoughts or feelings that I could write about here, in order to remember these experiences and share them with our friends and family. In the past, I’ve often gotten stuck, and written less than I’d like because I was too busy, but this time it’s a little different.
The last week of September I heard the terrible news of the sudden death of a friend – the husband of one of my closest friends. A few days later I heard that another of my closest friends had just found out that her daughter, a college sophomore, has cancer. How can I write about fireworks and tacos when my friends are facing such life-changing challenges? On the other hand, I’m positive they wouldn’t want me to stop writing. I know they are both avid readers of my blog and I could even boldly hope that reading it might give them a very short break from their daily routine.
So, I will get back on the horse. But before I post another photo of my amazing tortilla soup or share the highlights of San Miguel’s holiday celebrations, I will write about what it was like to go back “home.” When I got the call about my friend’s passing, my immediate feeling was helplessness. I couldn’t do ANYTHING to help and I felt VERY far away. Within less than 10 minutes I had made the decision to fly to Boston so I could be there in case there was something I could do, and to attend the services. I had a business trip planned for the following week, so I changed my tickets, found a bed in the ‘Ham, and left Ben and the kids on their own for 10 days.
Traveling from Mexico to the US was no big deal. I have my temporary resident card so I had to figure out how that works, but it was simple. The airport is about an hour away from our house, and I had a shuttle service pick me up. The airport is small, but modern. I flew out of Leon, but there is another option nearby – Queretaro. It’s about a 2-hour flight to Houston, and then maybe 3 ½-4 hours to Boston, followed by a bus ride to Framingham.
It was on the Logan Express bus that it hit me. I was going home. But was it still home? How would it feel to be in such a familiar place, running into people I knew? I felt stressed knowing that I would be so close to our house, with access to any “necessities” that I might want to take back to Mexico. Would it be odd to see someone else (a friend) living in our home? As the bus passed through the Weston tolls and drove the last 5 miles on the Mass Pike, I cried. Was I crying because I would soon be seeing some of my best friends? Would leaving them again be as heartbreaking as our departure in July? Was I crying about my friend who lost her husband so suddenly? Or because of the close proximity to our house, and our “stuff,” which has often felt overwhelming? Was I rethinking our decision to move?
Looking back I think it was a combination of all of the above, and a much-needed release of the pressure that had been building since I had received the news a few days earlier. My 5-day stay in Framingham was emotionally exhausting in many ways. Of course I felt my friend’s pain, but I did what I could to help. I can’t imagine not being there for her. I went to our house, and though I did feel the weight of the stuff we had been accumulating for decades, so many tasks left undone, and so much history, it only made me appreciate our uncluttered life even more. I spent time with a lot of friends, and spontaneously attended a 5K race at our elementary school. As I stood at the finish line yelling the names of my friends as they crossed, they each looked at me with shock, confusion, and excitement. Finally the family cheering next to me asked who I was and why I was such a surprise for so many.
It felt a lot like Homecoming Weekend. You’re off at college having a great time, but you miss your family and friends at home, your favorite hang-outs, certain foods. You come home for the weekend along with everyone else, catch up on news and get lots of hugs…laugh, cry, realize how much you love these people, and then head back to your new normal.
Quite a few friends have asked what the future holds for us. Are we coming back to the ‘Ham, or are we staying in San Miguel? Honestly, I don’t know the answer, and that may be another reason I have not written on my blog. Although we miss our people, we do love it here and pending approval from work I think we’d like to stay longer. Forever? I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ve spent the last 10-ish years just trying to survive each day. Waking up in a panic because I was already behind – even though the day had just started. Yelling at my kids to get out of one sports uniform and into another. Stressing about schedules, traffic, field-trip forms, work, the condition of our house, and so many other things. Shopping for Halloween costumes, Spirit Day props, birthday-party gifts that nobody needed, and re-purchasing items that were lost somewhere in the house. Just trying to get through each day without forgetting something that would cost me my job, the house, or result in a kid being left somewhere on the other side of town without a ride home. I don’t know how I managed the stress.
Life is not perfect now. The kids still bicker (and the parents), my people still have to be reminded to pick up their dirty clothes, the dog still pukes. The internet is a little slow, the neighbors’ dogs bark, the construction that has been going on next door since we moved in still isn’t done. But this town is magical. Colors so deep and vibrant they soak into you, joyful celebrations of anything that could possibly be celebrated, music and art all around, the challenge of a new language to learn, glorious weather, a fabulous school where the kids are thriving, fresh and delicious food, and lots of friends to share it with. The year we had planned here won’t be enough time to take it all in, or to give enough back.