Ebb and Flow

It was a typical afternoon. I was working on the computer, checking email and reading some Spanish documents for work. Hazel was taking a nap after school and Ellie was watching her Friday afternoon show.

We have a stack of photo books I made over the last couple years on the coffee table next to our couch. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ellie grab the top one. It's a little book I made of Ellie and her best little buddy in Fresno, Abi. We gave a copy to Abi before we moved.

Ellie was looking through the book, as she does occasionally. I walked over to the couch and saw her touching Abi's face, studying her. These pictures are already more than a year old. I don't want to think about how much she may have already forgotten. There's always been a blurry line for me between remembering with fondness and hanging on too hard.

Mommy. I want to go see Abi. Right now. It's been a lot of days since I saw her. I looked at my little one's face, so serious and solemn and sad. She remembers some things, at least. My heart snapped in two. There's nothing more heartbreaking than seeing your three-year old sad and confused. I wiped my misty eyes, tears shed for her and maybe my own missing friendships.

Fresno friends

We've been living in Guatemala for almost 11 months. We have our routines. We're accustomed to life here. It's our new normal. But making friends is hard anywhere, and especially hard here, between the job we have and the language barrier and not knowing where to connect with people. It may be the most difficult part of living here.

These waves of nostalgia and reminders of what we left behind ebb and flow like the waves of the ocean. Some days the waves of memories are soft and warm and almost comforting, slipping in out of my mind as I go about my day. I smile, thinking of friends and memories and am thankful for experiences we've had.

Other days the waves hit hard, crashing down like the stormy, dark waves along the rocky Oregon coast. They hurt. They're cold and sad and lonely. I find myself in a dark place, even for a brief moment, thinking what if and about all the things we "gave up."

A favorite place: Twin Rocks
Rockaway Beach, Oregon

Thankfully, those moments are less and less. I'm an adult. I can handle them. I understand the decisions we've made and the benefits of living here. But, it comes full circle when your preschooler wants to go see her friend and doesn't understand why we can't just drive over to her house like we used to.

And so it went that Ellie and I had a brief moment in the midst of our daily normal of missing our friends and family and what we left up North.

And then we're back to our current routine, our Guatemalan phase of life.