family

My grandparents arrive today, not from Guam directly, but from San Francisco, where my uncle has already equipped my grandfather with a cell phone, and they have my number in case I am needed somewhere between the plane's landing and their walk through the security checkpoint. I'm not sure to what can compare the process of family visiting -- a ship at sea? A great Spanish galleon not even on the horizon, but through news reports from other people and ships, I know its impending arrival. And then, it's only a date in the calendar, a far away worry. Weeks and then many days in advance the anxiety hits, the list of to-do's seem daunting, a sense of urgency washes over because I know my life will not be my own, my time sucked up into the vacuum that is not necessarily just their needs and concerns but my own spree of wreckless spending -- all time gets funneled in to precious moments in the kitchen, in the car around town, and around malls. Anything to build our reserves, to give one another the emotional sustenance to get us through the 6,000 miles that will inevitably separate us once again.

And then the penultimate day comes, and the excitement hits, the joy of gazing out to sea knowing that a vessel will appear through the sky and clouds. And today their ship appears, I can see it at the lip of the ocean's mouth making its way to the throat of the shore. And the negation of my individuality is accepted, the long hours I will spend late each night to catch up on work is welcomed -- bracing for the uncomfortable unspoken conversation sure to accompany the immense gorging of food. And yet I remember that almost imperceptible flutter in my chest on that day the calendar was first marked -- when my imagination first envisioned the galleon's approach -- so indistinguishable in the avalanche of foreboding apprehension, like a small butterfly trapped in the thick of dry brush.