The family

In some ways, it was harder saying goodbye to His mom than it was to Him. Him and I had had a couple of days to prepare ourselves and to say all that we wanted to say to one another. So, when the time came to say goodbye, a firm hug and a kiss felt like enough. But with Her, there was so much left unfinished, unsaid, unexplained.

She was the first person we told. The morning of the day we were supposed to leave for Midwestern City, we got up, had really good sex, went for an emotionally-charged walk, then went back to the house and told Her. Well, He told Her, while I stood beside him with tears streaming down my face, unable to make eye contact. She had tears in her eyes before He even started talking. And the first thing she said was, "Like Jane and Paul." At the time, both He and I thought that this meant that his cousins were splitting too. Later we learned that what she meant was that they spent a few years apart before connecting again and going on to get married and have three adorable kids. What followed is a blur. I remember a hug and lots of nice words, but not the particulars. When she was driving me to the airport (well, playing chaffeur, since both He and I were in the back seat), she turned around at one point and said in a mock threatening tone, "You better stay part of this family!"

At the airport, I said goodbye to her first, while He waited a few feet away. As she came around from the driver's side, I lost the ability to speak, and turned into a waterworks show. She again said many sweet things, in the exceptionally eloquent yet entirely genuine way that she does. She told me she loved me. I tried to mutter it back, but all the words were stuck in my throat. I mimed that I'll write to her, and hoped that I would be able to tell her all the things that I wanted to but wasn't able to say in that moment. She stood with her back to the two of us, giving us as much privacy as possible in such a public space. We said our farewells, not so much with words, but with glances and touch and one last kiss. And then I turned around, took hold of my overweight suitcase and walked off.

A few weeks later, I finally managed to dislodge the words from my throat and write her an email. I kept it relatively short, thanking her for all the wonderful things that she'd done for me over the years, but mostly for making me feel so welcome and like a daughter. She isn't really the sentimental and emotionally expressive type, so when she told me a couple of years ago that she considers me the daughter she never had, it really meant a lot. And she made me feel that way. The bond that she had had with her mother-in-law, even after she divorced her son, was one that I had hoped to have with her: going on vacation together without the boys, having one-on-one lunches.

She wrote back to me a couple of days ago.

As I certainly don't have to tell you once more, I was very sad of seeing you and He parting. In my eye, you were (and still are) so much a part of the family, one of us. I'm glad that you and He are working at maintaining a friendship. Who knows what's in stock for any of us. Five-year plans, no matter how well-laid, have a way to turn out in such unexpected ways that it's almost useless to plan much in advance. I think you're both handling the situation as well as you can. Time has a way to take care of things, sometimes in much better ways than we can fathom ourselves.

I do reiterate my invitation to Guatemala. If neither one of you has found another love interest by Christmas (deep down, I almost wish you won't :)), you are both welcome in Guatemala, if that is not awkward to you or Him. Or any other time for that matter. You are and always will be welcome.

I haven't yet responded. But I do plan on giving her a call on Skype sometime in the next few months. And maybe a visit, too...