My little cousin got married last month. Though truth be told, he can hardly be called “little” by any stretch of the imagination. He now looks a little like Clark Kent, can bench press an obscene amount of weight and will some day soon be a licensed Chiropractor. In my heart and mind he will forever be the three year old boy sucking on a pacifier, wearing oversize flippers and struggling to shuffle away from me at my summer swim lessons- as I chase him around the pool threatening wet hugs and kisses.
He is a man now. A married man with an amazing, beautiful, kind wife (whom I adore.)
All of this seems to have happened without me. Kind of like I died somewhere along the way and life went on regardless. It is hard not to be sad as I go through wedding photos of my smiling family together for his special day.
Almost eight years ago I made a choice, to leave every person I had ever known and move across the continent in order to support my partner in his fatherhood. You cannot parent small children from thousands of miles away and so there really was no choice to be made only a reality to be accepted and dealt with.
Growing up, I never thought of my family as a “close” one. My memories of holidays and celebrations bear that out now in sharp contrast to my current lack access to them. I am not the only one removed from the system.
My sister currently resided is Guam with her husband. Reports from back home indicate that at least one of my aunt/uncles will be spending this Christmas with their son and potential in-laws in the south of the state. This fracture will mark a continuation of the trend I started almost a decade ago with my migration. Until then, we had all been together every holiday, a thing I now know I took for granted.