Unedited midnight thoughts
Every time that I come back home to San Diego, I fear not making the most of my time with my family. We used to all live together, my little nuclear family, and we waged war together against all the injustices life brought our way.
Ever since I was a kid, it was me, my older sister who always seemed to be down on her luck, my bubbly younger sister, my father of a few words, and my mother of a loud voice. We spent an extraordinary amount of time together, crammed into cars, rooms, tables. My sisters shared a room up until my older moved out in her late 20’s.
But everything changed when I moved away for college. I was the first to leave the nest. My older sister had gone to college in our hometown so she just lived at home for her undergraduate career (and then some). At some point, I thought that would be my fate too, but I ended up breaking past the obstacles and had the opportunity of a lifetime, to leave home for New York City. I took that shot and never looked back. If only life was so simple.
When I moved out, my older sibling followed shortly after, moving into an apartment with her now fiance. For years, I didn’t realize what effect that had on my parents and particularly my younger sister, who ended up alone in a house that was empty of laughter and yelling. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like to have your world so quickly altered right when you were developing into a young adult. I’m ashamed for not having been there for her, but how could I have been. I was 18 and I wanted the world. I just wish I could’ve brought them all with me.
I spent 4 years in New York, visiting home during the summer and winter breaks, sometimes spring breaks. I think my mom always hoped that I would end up back in San Diego right after college, and, despite my best efforts, she got her wish.
I moved back in with my parents after school ended, unemployed and trying to find my path. When I realized I was most likely not going to end up with a lucrative position right away, I hunkered down, got a job, and made the most of my situation.
Suddenly, my mother had her family back. We were having dinner together every night, spending the weekends together. I’d leave every few months to go to Chicago and visit my girlfriend, but beyond that, I spent a lot of time at home, especially when the pandemic forced us all inside.
In hindsight, it was one of the best decisions I could’ve made. I’m actually friends with my younger sister now, I feel like I know my parents a little better, my relationship with my older sister improved, and I saved enough money to set myself up to be on my own.
After about a year I made the move out to Chicago. I don’t think my mother realized how lucky she was to have gotten all this extra time with us. If I had gotten a job in another city, if my sister had gone out of state for college, if my older sister had moved away even further, we might not have those additional weekly outings or dinners. We we were lucky to have this time together. Blessed.
Now that I live in Chicago, I spend alot of time focusing on the things in front of me, which makes me forget to check in on what’s happening at home. I hate the feeling of coming back and feeling like I have to catch up. It’s frustrating and overwhelming all at once. Everytime I come home there’s an anxiety of having to make the most of my time with everyone, show them new food or go someplace special with them. My parents are getting older and they’re starting to slow down. I’m not sure if they pay much attention to it, but I notice since I only see them every few months.
Today marks my 4th trip to San Diego this year. I’ll be back over the holidays for a few weeks, but after that things get more uncertain. Is it sustainable to keep coming back so often? A lot of my friends don’t really live around here anymore. Even with my family, the trips back are getting lonelier. When I move from Chicago where will I go? New York? Abroad? I want adventure and new experiences but I fear that in my journeys I may miss out on the finite amount of time I have with my parents or my sisters.
Every time I get on plane to leave San Diego, I wonder if this is the last time I get to see the members of my family face to face. What if the next time I come back, things are drastically different. What then? It’s thoughts like those that fuel the happiness I feel when we’re hanging out together at a pumpkin patch, watching a movie, or sitting around our broken in dinner. It’s the acknowledgement of the fear that makes me so thankful in that moment for the time I’m living, and brings me back to the present, as much as I can. I feel like the days are etched in my mind, elongated before me, for better or worse.
I’ve been blessed by whatever function of the world for having kept us all together for so long, despite all the odds we face. I hope with all my heart that this visit won’t be the last, that the laughs and joy we had together can keep coming our way. If for some reason they don’t, if for some reason lady luck doesn’t fall our way, than I’m thankful for the time I’ve spent. These memories will warm me no matter what happens. It’s time I don’t want back because it was so beautiful.
This beauty I will cherish forever.
