I Miss My Momma

The night before I moved to Spain a TikTok popped up on my phone. It was of a woman talking about all of the graduations, baby showers, funerals, and other significant moments she had missed after moving to Europe. That's not going to happen to me, I had thought. It's only ten months.

My mom came to visit in March. We met in Barcelona, and had the best week together. Ironically, the vacation part was a bit of a mess. I hadn't put together that a European holiday meant that tickets were booked up for every single tourist attraction. On top of that, the weather was atrocious. Rain, cold, and more rain. But none of that mattered. Because my mom is my favorite person on the planet. Plop us in a park, and we’ll wander around for hours laughing about absolutely nothing. If you asked me what we did, I’d have to admit that we didn’t do a lot. But it was one of my favorite trips. 

This was the first time I had seen her since her mom had passed away in the fall. My grandma visited Barcelona a few years before, so we spent a large part of the vacation imagining my badass grandma wandering the streets, debating if she had liked croquettes as much as we did, and laughing at the idea of her trying to stay up past eight pm.

I talk to my family pretty regularly. Cinder gives me a reason to fill an hour walk everyday with family updates. But updates are different from passing time together. Different from drinking sangria and solving the world's problems. Different from wondering where that one person from middle school ended up, and spending an hour stalking them on Instagram together. Different from giving each other permission to be silly, and goofy, while simultaneously giving permission to cry, to grieve, and to be vulnerable. When it came time for her to leave, I was a mess. Why did I move across the world, away from the people that love me most?

Up until my moms visit I hadn't realized how much had happened in the past months. I knew that my sister had moved apartments. I knew Claire was working a completely different job while also helping my dad to start a nonprofit. I knew my parents had adopted a cat that, according to our family group chat, turns into Chucky the Clown at night. I knew they had created inside jokes, discovered new restaurants, suffered traumatic family visits, and made new friends. I knew all of this, and had made peace with missing it. But to see how much grief my mom had been wrestling with, while I had been taking trips to the beach, made moving to Spain feel selfish. 

I’m so grateful for my time in Spain, and I’m even more grateful to have a good relationship with my mother. But knowing that I don’t have infinite time with the people I love, and actively choosing to live three thousand miles away is something I struggle with. In Spain, people are typically much closer with their families. They don’t encourage their kids to leave home so early, they don’t pressure them to be completely independent by twenty two in the same way we do. And while I’m endlessly thankful for all the experiences I’ve had since I left home at seventeen, as I get older I don’t know how I’m supposed to know what to prioritize when building my life. 

This summer I’m going to be living with my parents before moving back to Madrid in the fall. The last time I lived with them was the dark days of the Covid lockdown. When I was finally able to move back to school, I promised myself I would never move in with them again. But the last ten months have made me recognize how much my relationship with my parents matters. That for me, sending photos of our respective pets back and forth is no longer cutting it. I want to have new experiences with them, build new memories, and feel like we’re truly part of each other's lives. Because I really do miss my parents.