I hadn't cried once since we moved here, which is a bit of an accomplishment since tears come as easily to me as a small child. And not a brave small child either.
I cried when my family moved to Connecticut. I sobbed into my pillow at night, trying not to wake up my roommate who tossed and turned in the bed next to me, her sighs and rustles telling me she was awake too. I cried when I moved to Connecticut myself, because there is always someone to miss, no matter where you are. You never realize that everyone you love is around you when they are, which seems to be an unfair trick life plays on us.
I cried in Hawaii most nights. I missed Kevin, and the familiar home I left behind. I missed the safety net I left, but mostly I missed Kevin.
So when I made it two full weeks without crying here, it felt like such a triumph. I bragged about it to my sisters and my mom, and they congratulated me, knowing that it is hard to do this. It is hard to pack up your life and assume a new one so quickly. It is hard to try to incorporate your new life into lives of others who have deeper roots.
But it finally happened tonight. I went to visit a new friend who lives downstairs and just had a baby. Her house was bustling - her mother, her in-laws, husband and son all there, moving in and out of the apartment like it was nothing. Other friends were there too, congratulating her, chatting with me - with each other. It smelled like dinner and the light was that warm, familiar dim and the loud overwhelmed me in the best way.
When it was time to go I walked up the stairs, the floor of my apartment just mere inches from where her ceiling began. It was dark and quiet and Kevin was still at the library where he has been every night until dark this week. I sunk against the door after locking it and cried.
And you know, it wasn't the best cry I've had, but when I finished I still felt better. The cry was rooted in loneliness and newness but mostly I cried because it was so quiet I needed something - some sound to fill the empty air. When I was done I laughed at myself, and I made a sandwich and I ate it outside on the stoop where I heard babies crying and birds whistling at each other and I let the heat seep into my skin and I decided I would be okay.