The man who welcomed me into his large, complicated family. The man who, when he talked, Cesar said my eyes practically bugged out of my head trying to follow with my broken Spanish. The man who punctuated his talking with the best laugh, that I couldn't help laughing along with, even when I didn't know what the hell was going on. The man who took me into the kitchen and let me lounge against the counter while he cooked the most delicious food. The man who tied special knots into the wrappers of the vegetarian tamales so I knew which ones I could eat.
We fell out of touch, which I understand and am okay with, which I think is what happens in a lot of marriages that end without kids. I'm finally at a point in my life where I have so much gratitude for my memories and time with the Rodriguez family, and so little resentment. It's a long time now that I haven't been married; and yet, we were so young when we got married, I think we completely immersed ourselves in each other's families, with the kind of impact that lasts regardless of years gone by and radio silence.
Cesar's parents came to stay with us for a long time less than a month after my own dad died, and I'm sorry now for how stony and unpleasant I was those days. I remember how many nights I drove to the beach by myself in the middle of the night, to sit on a stone wall, unable to stand anyone, most of all myself. They were patient with me even when I was acting like a brat. The counterbalance is all the memories of happy visits and holidays. Falling in love with Cesar with both our parents' long and complex love stories behind us, around us, and in front of us.
And now, our mothers have both lost their husbands. Cesar and I are both half-orphans. And from a long distance of miles, and time, and silence, I send so much love to the Rodriguez family in their time of grief.
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