I used to know it all.
I used to teach.
I used to read profusely.
I used to watch tv shows.
I used to write.
I used to take pictures.
I used to jog.
I used to converse in Spanish.
I used to be Angiecita.
I used to kiss people.
I used to be a missionary.
I used to live close to close friends.
I used to take buses and taxis.
I used to be warm.
I used to eat Salteñas and good fruit.
I used to suffer in silence.
I used to think the work was enough.
I used to know certainty.
I used to delude myself with auto-sufficiency.
I used to expect, anticipate, and envision.
Now the idea is that I get used to the new.
Get used to a constant achy lost feeling.
Get used to displaced and misplaced and erased.
Get used to the glance of pity.
Get used to the empty questions.
Get used to cold.
Get used to unspectacular routine.
Get used to uncertainty.
Get used to doubting and second guessing myself.
Get used to BIG.
Get used to TOO MUCH.
Get used to SPEED.
Get used to being loved by family up close.
Get used to the familiar acceptance that wells up when I hear dear ones say Ang’.
Get used to an over-abundance of good.
Get used to polite.
Get used to crying every day.
Get used to hundreds of gifts that furnish our home, fill the kitchen, and clothe us.
Get used to a drive instead of a walk.
Get used to advocating for my soul and well being.
Get used to the default “easy”.
Get used to my cocoon of not-yet and not-anymore.
Before we moved to the States I asked my children to share their greatest fears and their greatest hopes. Had I been in my right mind I would have carefully transcribed that conversation like a dutiful stenographer. I didn’t. Now I trust the Fates to remind me of their thoughts when I need to remember them.
One of the kids said that their greatest fear was that when we got to the States that all that happened in Bolivia these 13 years would disappear, or not matter. I understand that feeling. In all our unsettling settling things look muddled. We feel shaken. Memories mix up with emotion and remembered reality morphs.
We passed the 40 day mark since leaving Bolivia. Six weeks is all; that’s single digits my friends. Gratitude abounds in the midst of the many moods. The goodness God has poured out is undeniable and comforts me.