I am in Cancun, and it is raining.
I am in Cancun, in my childhood home, and it is raining.
I am in Cancun, in my childhood home and it is raining heavily, buckets and buckets.
I am in Cancun, in my childhood home, in the neighborhood I grew up in, and it is pouring down, and there are voices of children running around, screaming, happy.
I was a child once. I was a child that ran in that rain, and I was happy then too. My brother and I would wait, jumpy at the door, for my mother to nod in approval so that we too could run like wild animals and play in the rain.
At one point, in one of these last childhood rituals, much after my brother had grown too cool and when my baby sister (she is 24 today but she will always be my baby, carrying a doll, dimples and straight hair) could run well enough. It started to rain, sheets of rain, and I saw as my teenage brother stood by the door, and I went to stand by him. I explained to my then 4 or 5 year old sister that we were going to get wet, and run and play and she came to stand by the door too.
My mom came out from her bedroom, and after a pause she told us to go. And so I went to dance my childhood rain worship dance. I wish I would have danced more. And isn’t that always the case, when it is too late and you realize it is gone forever, that you wish someone had told you? You wish you would’ve known, you wish you would have stayed stretched in the water, fingers wrinkly and soaked.
It is not the dancing in the rain that my heart hurts for- it is the dancers in it. It is the world wherein the girl who danced in the rain got no continuation to exist, the one where the other dancers are far and away, divided by time and distance and bureaucracy.
I miss my siblings.
It feels like ten thousands lives between the woman I am now and the girl I was back then, happy with the rain and a big brother, discovering a little sister.
You will have moments like this, exiled sister and brother. You will have unexpected moments creep up on you out of the calm of the day and your heart will contract and you will hurt. These moments, they come out of nowhere, memories always close to the surface that say things in layers. They will be many, and they will be continuous. You will often times be caught unaware, sometimes while cooking a meal, sometimes in an afternoon while taking a walk through the park, or in the middle of a conversation with a newly made acquaintance. They will hit you surprisingly and your reaction will sometimes vary: You will fight back tears, or you will laugh hysterically or savor it for the rest of the afternoon. These moments, they are reality checks, funerals and life savers. They are stark comparisons and contrasts. You will hurt and you will remember that there are things you love that are echoes inside you, and parts of your life frozen until some hopeful return.
Give yourself permission to mourn these moments, to feel them so that you can regain balance again. It comes back slowly, and you will learn the dance that goes with them.