Raph will tell you if you ask. I cry a lot. I don't think it is that much, but compared to him I do cry a lot (not a difficult feat considering I haven't ever seen him cry.) My departure from Pittsburgh was like removing one of those really sticky bandaids and I cried a lot, for leaving my home with permanence, knowing that this time I wouldn't be coming back.
But after the 18 hours of travel, my tears had dried and I was excited about a new adventure. I did pretty well. No bouts of crazy emotions. No tearful episodes about how I miss my mother. I did miss my mother. But I didn't cry about it. Not for months. And then they came. My parents. Unobtrusively, without imposing, which is their way.
Boy was I glad to see them. They took US on vacation even though they were visiting us. We spend days at the Puako beaches on the other side of the island, sunning ourselves, watching turtles and fish, playing bridge. And when we'd had our sun limit, we returned to rainy magical Puna, and shared the stars above Mauna Kea, the tide pools at Kapoho, the red road, quaint Hilo, and of course our new house. Then we shopped for furniture and played more bridge. Raph even was dealt 32 points in one hand. We ate well, and laughed a lot. And then they left.
And that little cut under the sticky bandaid resurfaced and I haven't stopped crying since.
