I thought I was going to die. Honestly, and with no intention of drama, I thought, or more accurately: I was sure I was going to die.
She had time to accept the departure of her daughter who had dreamed of living outside our España for years.
But, you know how it is: when we don't want to believe in something, we create cowardly strategies to not see the fact.
And in the act, I felt like I was going to die.
When the last call for Air Canada flight AC 091 announced the reality of immediate boarding, then yes, I understood that the future was now. And I suffered, with the anticipated feeling of nostalgia that insisted on overcoming pride, of feeling the daughter exhaling in her words, the breath, the good perfume of the determined.
My heart sped up, even more than the mother's thoughts rampant in worry.
I immediately transported myself to a not-so-distant past, where the idea was still a dream. And then, a pulsating hollow settled in my brain.
And at the same speed, my breath shot out an arrhythmic drumbeat. And it shrunk my heart. She squeezed. Do you know a raisin? My whole body contracted. And trembled.
And honestly I thought: how ridiculous, I'm going to die here, at Guarulhos airport! I'm going to have a stroke. Maybe it's a good day to die – how selfish I am – I thought.
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Everyone who was there said goodbye, or I said goodbye before everyone else, I don't remember. The watercolor painting recalls his face and only him, shining eyes straight into my eyes, ours, dissolved in water: “Mom, thank you for letting me go”.
Ah, my daughter, how can I not let go? What right have I?
I thought: you left when you left me. Only I didn't notice.
My 3 dolls, my 3 girls, were never mine.
Friends and relatives, almost all of them, showed me the nice side of this opportunity, validated the sadness, but they didn't understand that my heart only knew how to decrease.
I'm not one of the opportunities stupid, I know well. And it was then that Carla, the doctor friend, a restless Corinthian who calls me a little pig, gave the necessary loving step: "I'm going to prescribe floral remedies and homeopathy, if this grief doesn't go away in 4 months, let's go in with an antidepressant.”
Every day was a crying day. I cry with choking, with a runny nose, with tears running down my cleavage and the pain – anguish – in my chest that wouldn't let up.
When homesickness arose, I thought of my parents, friends of mine, who had lost their children to death. This one was real! So I felt even worse.
The days passed, so slowly. Months, until completing the four limits.
I immersed myself in work and personal life. I acquired new habits. I became lazier, less perfectionist, I didn't impose unnecessary challenges on myself, I accepted my pain without minimizing the reason and I learned to laugh at what is not even funny. I blurred the longing and also the time of reunion. And the longing, like time, was getting looser.
It was Sunday, April 14, 2019, when I thought I was going to miss you. Today, January 14, 2020, the day I write about saudade, funny, I only now realized: the cycle of a pregnancy is closed. And who is reborn now is me. More confident, knowledgeable, a woman less shy of inevitable events. Longing, a deep sense of lack and distance. Bem describes a mixture of feelings – including loss – but mainly love.
And in a copy and paste I transcribe from Wikipedia a valuable information from the secular myth: according to which the word 'saudade' only exists in Portuguese, has no equivalent words in other languages ​​and has no translation. Is not true. The theory gained renewed popularity when the British company Today Translations promoted a list of the most difficult words to translate properly, with the opinions of a thousand professional translators. Saudade ranked seventh.
According to Carolina Michaëlis, this happens because it is a common word, inseparable from Portuguese culture and with a complex meaning.
As complex as the longing felt, here, there in Canada or anywhere in the world, it's always the same thing.
Oh, and we survive it, yes.
