Finding My Way
It’s raining hard. Very hard. A welcome sight and sound in this drought-ridden latitude when I've wondered if I'd ever hear that rushing roar again. The greens in my garden contrast brightly against the grey of the day. Water swirls along the street gutters.
This morning hubby greeted me with, “Happy 14th of July.” It was his way of acknowledging that I arrived in Chile into his waiting arms on this date forty-two years ago, unaware that I'd be spending the rest of my adult life here. Sometimes he has thanked me for my “sacrifice.” At that young age I didn't think of it as a sacrifice. I was naïve and in love. It’s been quite a journey, often a rocky road, challenging and prompting me to explore interior pathways of self-understanding. Lately, I've been reading old letters: correspondence between me and my parents and from hubby to me before I joined him here in his country. They allow me to step lightly back in time to facilitate my efforts to write an honest memoir, working title: Marrying Santiago. I started writing it over ten years ago, but now I believe it’s as ready as it will ever be, though I have so many doubts about putting it out there for other eyes. Is it well-written? Will someone find it of interest?
To me it’s worth it if even one soul finds comfort, understanding or joy in my words, if she can say, “Oh, I know that feeling so well.” And writing it was something I had to do for myself.