The Kids Left Home Today

The kids left home today.

It was hard to see them go. They hugged us, kissed us on both cheeks, the European way. When the last one walked out the front door, we turned and looked at one another. We stood still, in the center of the living room, saying nothing. We didn’t need to say anything. Each knew what the other felt.

Not abandonment.

We knew they needed to go, to move on with their lives. We’d be fine. We always had been and would again, but we’d miss them.

Tasha left first. She went to Mexico City where she connected with Alejandro. They spent a few hours together before she boarded the flight to New York and on to Moscow. There she’d reverse the thawing-out process, leaving behind the warmth, the flowers, the smiles. She would be in familiar territory, back in her lover’s arms as they plan for having a child.

How we had enjoyed having her with us, few days as it was. Too many of the hours had been consumed with listlessness, shared suffering from food poisoning. We had laughed, we had shared, we looked, observed, listened, consumed. As if we had never been apart.

Now she was gone.

Alejandro had arrived with Maria, his sister from Guadalajara. Placing the lighted candles on the stone benches, with little effort, she turned his patio, next to our casita, into a celebratory setting. With several of his friends, we gathered around the old white oak table under the bóveda ceiling, next to the tree, and sang happy…