Three of My Favorite Things (Dog optional)
There ARE some things I miss. Libraries, for instance. Oh! The fortune I spend on books! Easy access to movie theaters where I can watch a film in English. Being able to fluidly complain about lousy customer service. Bagels! Is there anything like a Brooklyn bagel?
But the lack of these is manageable. Yes, books are expensive- but I can at least order them online whenever I want. I can stream movies on Amazon Prime (don't hate me!); expressing dissatisfaction with gestures and tone of voice alone is very effective; flakey croissants/cornetti can make up for bagel deprivation.
The one thing that is not easily reconcilable is the distance from my family.
My Italian neighbor, Manola, told me that "Italians can't understand how you can live so far away from your family."
I can't understand it, either. I had no idea that this kind of distance would weigh on me so heavily, especially since my children already all lived a fair distance from me before the move. The impact whacked me upside the head this past Christmas. I saw photos of my 3 1/2 year old granddaughter running gleefully through Christmas displays, gushing over lighting and decorations and music and toys shouting "Look at all the Christmas! There's so much Christmas! Come look, everybody - look at all the Christmas!" 
I walked into a holiday store shortly after to buy a tiny string of lights to hopefully add festiveness to my balcony. Alone. The same kind of display of Christmas cheer made me cry. For the third year in a row, I couldn't share any of it with my extended family.
" So much Christmas!"
I walked into a holiday store shortly after to buy a tiny string of lights to hopefully add festiveness to my balcony. Alone. The same kind of display of Christmas cheer made me cry. For the third year in a row, I couldn't share any of it with my extended family.
Humans are estimated to be 60 - 70% water. I think we all float about in the same oceanic flow, feeling the effects of its movement to varying degrees. For families - it goes further. We're our own system of waterways, somehow interdependent rivers, inlets, estuaries, and tidal basins. We feel each others inner currents instinctively. Even at a distance.
Two years ago I visited my youngest child in California for the first time since moving here. We had a lovely visit, but it left me with uneasy currents rippling inside me. Something wasn't right. A month later, she was in crisis. A months-long GoFundMe campaign was required to see her through, during which the ebb and flow of both our emotions were high and strong. When the phone rings, I always sense when it is her calling.
Daughter and Comfort Kitty Last month granddaughter was in a continual state of alarm after a giant splinter entered her hand. No one could touch the hand. She held it palm up and away from anything and everything for weeks. The empathy I felt was painful. A high tide that prevented me from alighting on anything solid beneath. That tide didn't recede until my daughter sent a photo of a tiny hand, fresh pink skin where the dark slash of a wood chip had been.
Then there is my oldest, my son. Quiet. Often hidden. Matter-of-fact. His daily responsibilities to his household full of kids, dogs, a cat, birds, and coy fish are astronomical. He doesn't talk about them much, but even with the occasional text I can feel a heavy stone dropping into the deepest part of me, sending ripples of worry that echo off the shores of my being. The rebounding effect doesn't abate until I can see him in a Facetime call, or in a photo in which he looks healthy and the edge of tension has left his voice. 
Alpha-gal syndrome. A little known condition caused by a tick bite. Only a few months ago my oldest daughter was diagnosed with it. She can become very ill - or die - from eating red meat or any dairy. To a foodie and passionate cook like her, it was a devastating diagnosis. The best I could do to try to calm the whirlpool of emotions, was send her a vegetarian cookbook.
Oldest Daughter as Exhausted Mom.
This was taken before I moved. She's no stranger to difficulties...and managing them. Months of sleepless nights with a colicky infant, yet she still managed to organized a family presence at my and my husband's wedding.
The effects of our interconnectedness sometimes ebb. But, like tides, they return to exert their pull.
Two days ago, the youngest, who I thought was well past crisis mode, texted me: "Mom, call me. I have to talk to you." The tide threatened to inundate me until I could get through to her on a video call. Her car had broken down and left her stranded on a highway. In California. 6,000 miles away. She was able to talk through her panic - her own high tide - until she was able to calmly ascertain who comprised her support system. Help came. Waters calmed. But the realization that smooth seas were still not in her itinerary was (still is) unsettling.
These currents are often gentle, but so easily stirred. I feel them rocking inside constantly. The awareness of our distance, of my limited ability to rush to help, to spontaneously be there for celebration or crisis, keeps them in motion. So I ebb and flow with my love of being here, sometimes squirrely and confused waves crashing into one another within me.
Do I love being here? Yes, absolutely. And no.
Last Photo of All the Family Together... Wedding Day, December, 2021.
