I won’t be able to celebrate the holidays with my family this year—that will have to wait until 2011. In the meantime, I’m dedicating this next chapter to my parents. Merry early Christmas, folks!
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My parents are finally taking their long-delayed trip to Brazil. They’re leaving in about a week. This time, I think they’ll make it: Last year’s consulate conundrums are over and done, tickets and itinerary are declared and in-hand, and all that’s left is to pack the presents, the prescriptions, and the flip-flops, and get themselves and their stuff on that outbound plane.
Amidst early winter storms and bracing cold winds, in a house huddled under fourteen inches of snow, Mom is trying to imagine what to bring along to the second-warmest city in Brazil on the second-hottest month of the year, swooning at her sister-in-law’s insistence that the past few weeks have been exceptionally sweltering, even by Natal standards.
In a few days, she’ll sit before her suitcase, still not quite ready to fill it; a short time after that, she’ll sit before it again, more than ready to empty it. Ten years in the making, the trip itself is straightforward: Nod off in Atlanta, yawn awake in Rio, then a sleepy slip up north into the open arms of a família. Still, it’s not been easy.
Though the end result will bring gratitude and great joy, like childbirth, there’s pain in the process. Desire is pulling Mom forward and travel-prep tasks push her from behind, but there’s a shadow mixed in with sunny anticipation and last-minute planning. It will not be like it was in the past. My avó, the woman Mom thought of as best friend, counselor, and confidant, passed away several years ago—that was the occasion of my mother’s last trip to Brazil, to say goodbye. When she returns there now, she will to face that absence.
I am blessed to not have to have faced that loss and I can only imagine how it feels. In the meantime, her siblings have seen the city and the family grow and change around that gap, folding and dulling its edges with time. But Mom will bump up against those edges, and no matter what anyone says, at first they will be sharp.
Mom, Dad, Avó (Grandmother), Avô (Grandfather)
But ultimately, those edges will soften—eventually, it will be alright. With my mom’s return, Vóvó’s sons and daughters will have a piece of their mother back again; the rest of her will arrive through their conversations, their remembrances, their laughter and tears: Saudades. Mãe will fly overnight for a few thousand miles and land in Natal exhausted, travel-worn, tearful, and happy. Vóvó will arrive in a gust of cheerful chatter, with shining eyes, rich chocolate-brown hair, wisdom, and grace. Her children will remember her, seeing Mom, and exclaim, “You look just like her!” And it will be as if neither of them had ever left.
There will be plenty to of others to fill that gap, too: Nieces, nephews, grand-nieces, grand-nephews; cousins, second cousins, third cousins, cousins-removed; babies and more babies; old neighbors, teachers, friends and friends of friends. Mom will have her arms full, again and again, every day that she is there. Everyone will be talking at once, blurting and interrupting and teasing, their convivial clamor lasting long into the night. The neighbors may complain, but then they’ll come over and join in. Dad will nod and smile as Mom weeps for joy repeatedly.
It sounds positively smothering—sodden with emotions—saturated—exquisite. I hope they take lots of pictures. I hope Mom succeeds where I failed and gets photos of entire families all crowded together, faces peeking around elbows and arms around each other’s shoulders. I hope they take every chance to enjoy everything good. I hope they eat too much and sleep in too late. I hope they spend too much time in the sun, kicking the sand and holding hands. I hope they get to enter the army base as Dad’s been dreaming to do, reaching the very spot where he lived and worked.
I hope Mom remembers enough Portuguese to tease my Dad without him knowing it. I hope he’s patient with her for it—or at least gives as good as he gets. I hope they are, from time to time, left without words—revisiting the past and places full of memories, moved to the point of silence.
Mãe e Pai
I hope Mom calls me often while she’s there and goes on and on and on describing far too many details of everything that’s happening. I hope she meets so many smiling relatives and old friends and relatives of relatives and friends of friends that she loses track of all their names. I hope she tries to tell me their names and insists that I met them too and that I should remember who they are and gets slightly miffed when I insist I don’t. I hope they travel safely and come back with suitcases packed with too many souvenirs. I hope I never hear the end of it.
Our family’s own Natal celebration will be um pouco tarde, to give them time to return to the chilly Pacific Northwest. They’ll touch base back in Spokane on New Year’s Day and I’ll be there not long after that. We’ll all pile together in the living room mid-January around a shamelessly belated Christmas tree and share and share and never shut up. Dad will laugh loudly and Mom will cry a river. I’ll pass her the box of Kleenex if there’s any left after I’m through with it.
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Addendum…
I started this blog and my own trip to Natal with a photo in mind, the one shown below. I’ve had this photo since last February—unfortunately, I wasn’t able to post it at the moment that I captured it, as I’d planned. But now seems like the right time.
Tia Dinha and Me
(The art looks nice and Dinha is so pleased; I hesitate to warn her that art placed too near the bright sunlight of her balcony will fade more quickly—it already has, slightly. But this is Natal, and who can escape the sun? They should post the Tan Law at all borders: Be browned or fade away!)
I’m so glad I was able to be there in person, to see Dinha’s big smile and embrace her round shoulders. Mom and Dad are next, and I can’t wait to hear about it. I expect another photo like this will come soon after—it’s about time, too. I hope that soon after that, the photo will feature all four of us—or forty, if my cousins drop in for a visit.
World Cup 2014 is just around the corner, Mom reminds me. Time to start looking for cheap flights.
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Beijos,
Andrea
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