Love Letters in The Park

Dear Santi,

Remember when our daughter travelled across the sea? Arriving in a strange world, where people do not say hello in supermarkets or speak to their neighbours? We had spoken for hours that night, remember? You had said the landline was an artifact of our love. A red string from us to her. Those precious hours trying to get all the words out before the money ran out. Her ambitions as wide as the sky. Well, we live here now! And I do love the way the people walk in the rain with no hoods or umbrellas. Don't worry, I speak to all our neighbours; even if they don't really understand me. Although, I do miss our home. I miss how our stars glisten with ease, the skies bright and inviting. I miss our neighbourhood, even if we had weeks with no electricity. I miss the winding roads, and long talks outside in the winter's sun.

Our daughter works very hard, and speaks a different tongue with her friends and employer. She is fearless, and you would say she gets that from me. But, I don’t think that is true anymore. Sometimes, I sit on this bench in the park, and watch the people running and talking. I like to sit on this special bench, I’ll tell you why.

It is dedicated to another Santiago, the years scratched off with age. I think about a lot of things when I'm here. I think about our home across the sea. I think about how old this Santi is; if his loved ones are with us as well. Do they also sit on this bench? They must have loved this park as much as we do. But, mostly, I think of you. My Santi. I always think of you. You are so far from this place. I must hold onto you where I can.

Hello Santi,

Our daughter's boy turns 5 today! You would have loved to see how he jumps and runs. Such bolt of energy, that boy. I'm surprised he doesn't catch fire! He has your laugh, loud and soft. We are at the park today, on our bench, the sacred spot.

When I call out to him, he sprints towards me with one hundred things to say. He speaks with me in our language. The words golden in the sun. I love him so much. He tries to teach me his favourite words, the language of our new home. But, I find them hard to pronounce. My mouth seems to reject the vowels. Luckily, my teacher is more focused on discussing these things called digimons and pokemons. I love to listen to him speak. I'm watching him now, and he is zooming in the grass. My eyes never leave his sweet face. It's getting late, I think we will go home soon.

My Santi,

I am missing you more today than usual. I am missing our home. At night, when I try to practice the words and phrases, I cannot wrap myself in the blankets of their sounds. The fabric feels itchy on my skin. I prefer the plush velvet of our sayings and songs. I guess I'm stuck in my ways. Maybe my throat remembers home too much.

I work on the words, all day and evening, when our boy is at school, and our girl at work. I can ask for the bathroom, the bus stop and time. It is a big step, even if I take it with shaky bones. I miss you.

Hello Santi,

It is a very hot day, and our daughter has taken time off work. This makes me very happy. She is working too much! So, I am glad we are together in our favourite spot. Our boy is running back to us, his knees green with grass. We both open our arms, and he easily jumps into our embrace. He grins and points to missing teeth; and our girl says the Tooth fairy will visit soon. She winks at me, and I know we will put a coin under his pillow. I wish you could see how big he has gotten. She hugs him very tight, and kisses him on the head.

I know she misses you desperately. But, she doesn't want to talk about this yet. I will be here when she does. I will hold her in my arms and kiss her head. She is strong but stubborn. You would say she gets this from me. Ha! How time passes us by. Now, this place hasn't been the kindest to us, but that is ok. We are here to stay, and that is all that matters. Big hugs, my Santi. I love you.

My Santi,

The bench here is solid, and has your name. It groves into our backs, and holds us up. Our daughter is laughing, and our boy is singing in her arms. He jumps off, and starts to play, still singing all the while. His voice warms my heart, and I think of how you would have joined in.

I think we will sit on this bench for a while longer. We will talk some more, and watch our boy dance and sing. Our boy, who is as bright as the stars back home.