Once upon a time, I loved a man. Very much.
A few weeks before I met him, I had met another love. I had only spent an afternoon with this other love, this country, as it was not yet time for us to be together. When we got separated at the border, I sobbed as though ripped apart from myself.
Mexico had entered my heart.
During the years spent with this man I loved so very much, I sometimes mentioned my other love to him. I spoke of going back, of making a new life in that country I ached for.
This hurt him.
Sometimes he told me so with his words and sometimes his eyes told me.
After several years, our lives took different paths. It was painful. Our love never fully died, it shifted. Eventually there was room for me to speak of my other love to him without hurting him so much.
Once, a few years ago, he took care of my pup while I went to Mexico for a few weeks.
Eventually, I was able to move to Mexico indefinitely and even though we missed each other, we both knew it was right, that it was time.
We spoke often on the phone.
He urged me to buy land, down there. Down here.
One day, he told me about his new love and I knew that she was going to be a very special part of his life.
This week, he, his beautiful love and I got to share a long hug and several meals in a sunny part of the US. As family.
On a crisp, blue skied morning, this man I love very much held me tight as they both dropped me off in front of the Mexican consulate in Arizona where I was finally going to receive my resident visa.
A couple of hours later they picked me up in a shiny white convertible Mustang and were the first to see my newly adorned passport.
Then the three of us spent the day playing, talking, eating - and celebrating the richness of Life’s surprises and gifts.
Together, we spun more love.