More Time: in the end that's all we want

I realize that I have not written in an extremely long time. In all honesty, not only have I not had the energy or desire to try and sum up my thoughts publicly, I've been outright dreading it. This is not a blog I ever anticipated nor would have ever wanted to write.

I have some very sad news from Argentina. Jorge, my host-father and the 9 year partner of my host-mom Ana, passed away two weeks ago while I was away on my trip to Brazil. He suffered a heart attack in his sleep on Dia de la Madre, Mother's Day. I just found out on Monday. Santi, Jorge's son and my host-brother, is living with his mother now, not Ana, and although I do not know how he is doing (I can only imagine), I know that he is surrounded by his friends right now who are wishing him well. Ana is still struggling to accept the sudden loss of the love of her life. It's a fresh and frightening battle everyday. But still she makes a point of reminding me and all of her other well-wishers that she believes in God and hopes He has a plan. Life must continue, she says.

For me it is very strange. I know that Jorge was not my father, but at the very least he was a good friend, a confidante, someone who I relied upon for help when I needed it, and even grew to admire. I remember that Monday I'd been so excited to tell him all about my travels and show off how well my Spanish has become. He taught me so much. I wish I could thank him now.

But more than that, I am pained for the family now. They opened their home and their lives to me. They shared with me their traditions, their daily routines, their memories, and went to every trouble to ensure that I felt like I was one of them. I do. And now that that family of mine is torn apart and hurting, I have this awful absurd unfounded feeling that when I pack up my suitcase and board the plane 7 days from now, I will be abandoning them.

I already had a terrible dreading and anxiety about leaving here. I knew I would. But I also feel like now everything is changed. It's my last weekend in the city and instead of hitting the bars and boliches and taking the boisterous BsAs nightlife by storm, I'm eating dinner at home with Ana and the kids. There's really, truly nowhere else in this wide world I'd rather be.
I am not at all ready to go.
I feel so irreconcilably torn.
I don't have sinply A home or A family. In reality, I have two of each. My heart, in transient orbit, is being pulled as if by gravity to two separate spheres, confused and helpless to drive itself towards the wisest course.

Time. It is made, and taken, and spent, and lost, and killed, and counted. And somehow though it never rests or ceases its self perpetuation, there never seems to be enough of it.

Siempre es un tema del tiempo.