bittersweet

 

Leaving

I. Bendiciones 

Let’s set the scene. It’s 11 pm on a Sunday night and we all fly out Tuesday. We’re gathered in Mary’s living room. The Christmas lights are twinkling and a bittersweet something hangs in the air. We go around our lopsided circle and we bless the lovely soul who is seated next to us. We bless them in the fullness of their beings, and we have seen and been seen in the beauty and complexity of ourselves. And the blessings were beautiful. Not one was trite nor forced. They breathed authenticity and trust, comfort and constancy–home. As we were blessed, we were held in that sacred space. And our touch carried a current of the divine, passed from hand to shoulder to hand. 

II. Freya 

I’m seated in Freya, eating an oatmeal cookie and savoring my last chai latte in Mexico. And the feeling I’m seated in is a bittersweet one I think. One that is laced with such gratitude and joy but also a sadness to leave a place that has been nothing but kind to me. And the holidays loom ahead, with threats of unspoken grief and strained relationships. But may peace prevail, and may we be surprised by the unexpected ways in which God shows up.

III. Querétaro

I am flying out of Querétaro as I write. The wheels of the plane just lifted off the sun-soaked runway and the emotion sets in, trapped in my throat, as it were. I never have been apt at describing how I feel, and today is no exception. Perhaps, mostly, I am feeling a profound peace and a deep thankfulness. But there is apprehension for the arrival, for all the complicated and curious dynamics that are sure to greet me at home. My prayer is that I embody what I have learned these last four months: an effusive love for all that surrounds me and authentic care for all those I see, that I be a warm hug for whoever might need it, just as Mexico was for me. 

IV. flight DAL605: MEX–>MSP

This flight has been one of the most pleasant rides of my life. I have a row to myself, and for the past hour, have sat legs extended, enraptured by my book, the Omnivore’s Dilemma. As I read Michael Pollan’s well-developed arguments and subtle turns of phrases, I am stunned by how quickly and easily I turn from one page to the next. I read only Spanish books the past four months and missed this fluency and rapidity that I was previously accustomed to. Even reading something as heady and laced with ethical and moral dilemmas as this book feels invigorating, natural.  

As I read in English, I sipped some tea, English Breakfast in fact. And all was right in my little world, even as I debated whether or not eating meat was ethically justifiable (you know, because of the symbiotic relationship of both predation and separated domestication). And the sweet flight attendant reminded me of my mom as she told me to store my passport in a safe place and perhaps not on the empty seat next to me. It’s been oddly disconcerting, yet comforting in a way, to have a stranger who looks like me speak to me in my own tongue (as opposed to strangers who don’t look like I do speak to me in Spanish). 

The sun set as I write these words and the horizon, which appears to extend forever, tastefully blends hues of orange, pink, yellow and blue. The English flows effortlessly from my pen but the Spanish phrases and spelling patterns constantly pepper my mind: a menudo, sin fin, frase, en punto. I was about to write all those things before I caught myself. 

Another plane zooms by and I am struck by the manufactured miracle that is flight, that I can sit here–39,008 feet in the air, reading, writing, and snacking my way across national and state lines–watching the sunset fade away. 

V. Home 

Everything is mingled with grief these days. The hard parts of Mexico, bright green trees, waterfalls, even a kind lady on the plane. She is there in all of them. And as Dad drove me home from the airport, I felt her absence even more strongly; her vibrancy and flair for life simply were not there.

But in spite of all that, or perhaps through it all, it was a day full of gratitude: for one last run in Carretas, for Tere and Chetito and their “Dios te bendiga” and the fact that Tere me dijo “Vas a dejar un huequito en nuestra casa.” Que lindos. And for Mercy and Ella as we recounted all of the Spanglish blunders we had been making.

 May we all lean on each other in the coming weeks.