This time is different. This time coming back it doesn't feel like the other times. When I got off the plane I felt like I was home. The only thing missing were those I love that do not live next to me, and the landscape around my Mother's house.
Everything in Provence was familiar: Yann's embrace, the taste of wine, bread and cheese, the sounds, the colors, the light, our home, dishes, garden and bed.
The emotional experience of coming back gets heavier. It is what it is: Goodbyes are not enjoyable. In fact they suck.
The thing about being a child is (most likely) we see our parents grow older.
There is a sting in seeing one cycle end and another begin. Whether the transition is happy or sad, letting go means just that... letting go.
The lump in my throat has a way of lumping every emotional moment in my life. You would think at 58 I would have a better grip! Separating past from present is easier said than done especially when they are similar... Saying goodbye is not high on my list of things I like to do.
In the past I shoved my feelings down below the bruise that constantly reminded me that I left my family to join Yann in France. Not because I did not want to be here, rather it was too hard to hold on to both at the same time. This time when I left my mom I cried for quite sometime while my brother Mark drove me to the airport. And when he dropped me off I started to bawl as he drove away. The airline hostess at the check-in desk asked if I needed to sit down? Or was there someone I could call? I just shook my head and gave her my ticket.
Years ago my parents and I decided that they could not bring me to the airport when I left Willows because it was too brutal on us. From that day on a relative, or friend dropped me off at the airport.
And so it was extra hard this time as my brother Mark was there, and he cries as easily as I do, which means we could end a drought if we wanted to.
Paint your life beautiful.
Paint it with the brush at hand.
Grab it, hold it, and paint.
Splatter, wide brush strokes, in intricate detail.
Paint with the colors that speak what is yours:
Blue, Green, Dark Grey, Framboise, Mauve, Noire and Gold.
Forgetting to be honest with my feelings.
Instead of saying what is true.
"I want to hold on to you. I miss very much."
"I am happy to be here with you in our home, my home, my life abroad."
Both are true at the same time.
I reach for the paint brush-- is that a rainbow after the storm?
A pot of gold with snickerdoodles, walnuts, brocante and our town's pizza.