These moments.

Time certainly flies when you’re having fun, and this too-short week was no exception. But after a lovely time spent overdosing on chocolate and cheese (why decide?) and the natural beauty of the Swiss outdoors, it’s time for a change: some vegetables and a computer screen. I’m really looking forward to catching up on all that I’ve missed around these parts! 

So yes, the visit went surprisingly well. I say “surprisingly” because the sad, horrible truth is that as much as I wanted my parents here, I also just wanted to be alone. I’ve been in a generally pretty miserable state lately. I can hold it together when I have to, but I didn’t want to have to all day, every day, in the continued presence of others in the space where I’d like to be free to just let all the sorrow and rage escape. (That I do not want to share this pain with my family – have not – will not – is not a reflection on them but on myself.)

***

The day before their arrival was marked by a continued deep anger about the thyroid issue (more on that later), concern about what exactly my worrisomely light periods might be trying to tell me (more on that later too), and petty irritations that I was in no condition to bear. After having been out in the afternoon, I walked towards home, crying, of course, under a steady downpour and in a wind strong enough to make my ears hurt. I stopped in a park near our building and sat on a rain-soaked bench, trying to pull it together before entering our flat, until my frozen hands and wet ass would allow no further attempt.

(Why would I bother trying, one might wonder? Because: “You don’t seem as upset as me about this,” I had told Gilles a while ago with a flagrant disregard for the different styles in which people grieve. “I am – but I don’t like to bring my sadness here,” he told me. “I put it aside to think about it when I’m walking to or from the office. And then when I’m here, I just want to enjoy being happy with you.” A little unintended knife in the heart to the girl who dumps her sorrows on him the minute he – or she – walks through the door.)

Anyway, all the trying was to no avail. I came in a mess, and it was an hour before Gilles had brought me down enough that I could get out of bed and make dinner.

After eating, I listened to the message my dad had left earlier and returned his call. He’d already been traveling in Europe and was headed to an airport hotel to wait for the next morning’s puddle-jump to Switzerland. We chatted for a while and laughed in anticipation of the upcoming week’s antics. I started to think it might be okay after all. One step forward. And then right before we said goodbye, he asked if I’d received any emails with baby pictures from my sister. Apparently, she texts them to him on a daily basis, and since he’d been abroad, he’d been missing them.

“Nooo,” I said with all the disdain and disapproval I could muster before slamming down the phone and exploding into sobs, yet again. “I haven’t.” 

Two steps back.

***

But then they arrived, with hugs and smiles and happy tears in the middle of the airport, pulling suitcases full of so many goodies, so many little tastes of home, that I couldn’t but start smiling too. And I didn’t stop all week, other than during a few middle-of-the-night insomniac meltdowns to which only Gilles was privy, and other than this morning, when hello, welcome turned to goodbye. 

***

Smiles, tears, steps forward, steps back, and all the time, I tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass.

And they pass.

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