I woke up today in San Francisco at my aunt's home on the ocean.
I've always been so proud of how hard she worked to carve out a new life on her own in a strange (to her) city. She didn't have support from the family. Her mother, my grandmother, was ensconced at her home and orchard in Wenatchee just where she wanted to be. Granddad died the year I was born. Her older sisters were busy with her own lives.
Newly divorced, she moved here to get some respite for her asthma and start a new life. Thirty years later, she has a flat on the ocean worth over a million dollars. She secured a master's degree and taught ESL to immigrants for twenty years. I'm so proud of her.
After she got up, we sat and chatted. I had been thinking how wonderful it would be if things were different and my mother could be here with us, having fun, relaxed, staring at the ocean, eating and drinking wine, watching TV. No, that won't ever happen.
From somewhere deep within, I found myself sobbing. I sobbed before P got up, I sobbed after she got up, I sobbed most of the afternoon. We talked and talked and talked. She made good food and we'd talk some more. Finally around 5:30, we went out and got some Thai food, much needed.
We came home later and watched some British TV and then hit the hay, both emotionally exhausted.
I've never had this happen before. It felt like waters of the deep from places I didn't know existed emerged and were spent. There is such a great sadness at all we've lost in losing her. That's sort of how much of my family experience has been like: we live in proximity but not close emotionally. How tragic.
I was grateful we could talk and share. I felt bad for burdening her. She enjoys not being in the drama up here, and she really can't take it with her health what it is.
Not what I had in mind but grateful to have someone to share with who understands.
Tears at the ocean. I guess it's a good place to leave them.