And the funny thing is, they understand that, because they were the ones waiting back in NH when I came out to see my love and his family. Now they're the ones coming out to see me, and they still brought us flowers. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
I loved showing them as much of my new world as possible, and seeing some new things even my husband & I had never seen! It was a blissful week, full of the loving understanding, hugs, and humor of my family. I miss that daily. I could go on about how wonderful their visit was. I filled up a hefty chunk of my journal with the tale. But I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, we made a plethora of memories, enjoyed pristine weather, and drank in the sweetness of togetherness. In fact, it was too sweet! When they left, I had a hard time moving on.
I saw the spot on the couch where Gramma sat, with her feet propped up after a long day of sightseeing, or my aunt's chair at the table, with the deflating balloon we had to celebrate her birthday. There were the "housewarming gifts" Momma showered us with, and the now bare desk where Dad worked a little on his computer. In a way, their presence here haunted me...in a completely non-scary way. There were signs of them everywhere, and I missed that strange comfort of a full house. My hubby was at work, as usual, and I had my list of laundry, dishes, and job applications to get through. But it was just too much. I needed to grieve.
The day before they left, my husband told me how he was looking forward to coming home to all of us. He too understood this strange love of "invaded space." Dad kept saying how we'd love having our own space back, but the truth is, we both felt the loss. It wasn't an inconvenience. It was such a JOY to share this place with them.
And as I walk around the apartment, now that they've been here, I feel like it's more complete. They've left their fingerprints and now it's a true home. It feels like there's a part of them here now. For months I've struggled with my east-coast family not having seen where we've begun and share our married life. Now they've been here, and in spite of the pain of their leaving, it gave me a peace about this place.
The Pike Place flowers have since dried out, a few pressed for safe-keeping in my journal. The beds have been put away, and the extra towels in the bathroom have been taken down. I finished the last of Dad's left over soy milk in the fridge, and we have returned to long, long-distance phone conversations. But there are still things that trigger a memory, either of our vacation week or my old life back east. They're bittersweet.
And now, I think the next time my husband brings home Pike Place flowers, the ones with pink lilies, I'll think it smells like dating and family. They'll mean that much more to me.
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