Waves are crashing over the boardwalk

 They were angry. Altered by forces that are bigger than us. A kind of revolution that we are not capable of reaching with our human nature. And the waves were crashing over the boardwall. I thought they were confused as their churning discharged disorganized and arrogant.

Something similar was happening inside me. So much time away that when you arrive it feels like time has not passed but the rules have. With my eyelids glued to the floor and my hand on the handle of a suitcase broken by the miles, I headed without hesitation to the hospital. To see him lying in bed, as good-natured as ever, but with a stupor that shrank my soul. I don't know how many lifetimes it would take for me to get used to the grief of death. Even if I have been brave in the past and held her in my hands, she is always cold and obscene.

Moving forward over the next two weeks like photographs you can see in three seconds, I see my brother's laughter when I give him a hug. Also, my sister's rage as a nascent teenager as she stands up to challenges we both know she is not ready to face. I see my niece, not by blood but by soul, giving me a purity that can only come from certain sources. I see my friends, those who have left, those who are far away, and those who stay. Like those waves agitated without order, each one emerges in a direction. Now we are all around the same table whereas other times we have said goodbye.

I see Madrid. My Madrid. Our Madrid. I see, from the air, a blanket of green and brown hues that quickly blends in with the blue of the horizon I am piloting. I see the snow and even the wind, helping me to leave behind and under my skis, the unpleasant conversations that have violently slammed doors. I see, again, my grandfather. But this time young and discovering, as perhaps I am doing now, an uncertain future and eager to succeed.

I see a Roscón without figures, as well as a series of love that reminds me of places I have never visited, but to which I am dying to go. I see the purpose, uncertainty, humility, and good times. I see the fantasy of walking the cobblestone streets of Toledo sheltered by the warmth of an Aalto wine. I see the disposition of an adult who has determined that her time is worth more than power over any object.

And although I have only been told that in the Pacific the waves are crashing over the boardwalk and my Mediterranean is calmed, the time has passed and the rules have not changed. I am still here, I am here. We continue to love each other with greed and without regret. I want to love, without haste, in the distance and in sips that taste like adventure and peace.