Where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live. Your people will be my people for your God is my God.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Being his.

My dad, Kim, and Maria spent this past weekend with us.  It was fabulous.  We ate too much, slept too little, laughed just enough, and even spent one afternoon hiking some pyramids.

But as these things usually do, it came to an end all too quickly.  At the airport yesterday the time came to say our goodbyes. Dad hugged me tight and I heard the tears in his voice as he told me he loved me.  My throat was tight and the tears threatened to run down my face too so I did not say too much. As Rafa and I turned around, he slipped his fingers through mine, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. We sought out a taxi to begin our trek back to our small home on the outskirts of a little town in central Mexico, as my family boarded a plane to the good ol’ US of A. 

Everything was smooth emotion-wise until that night. Snuggled up close, watching a movie, Rafa said, “I missed your dad.”  I did not respond, so Rafa asked, “Are you going to cry?”  “No,” I responded, “I already am.” 

I pulled my head up of his shoulder to look at his eyes.  “I want you to know,” I began though the tears were still falling, “when we left the airport today, I realized I was not sorry to walk away from the m holding your hand.  I would do it again.  I never wanted to go back with them.  I am glad I choose you.  I have no regrets.  Thank you for that.”  Rafa pulled me close, kissed my forehead and whispered, “Te amo, Kat.” 

And that’s the truth.  I have no regrets.  Rafa is the only man in the world for whom I would give up everything I have ever known.  And I have done it.  And I am not sorry.  I am my beloved’s and he is mine.