December 28, 2013
San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua
This morning we piled into the car and had breakfast in town. It was a special occasion, my husband’s last $2 breakfast and last day, in Nicaragua. Deciding to stay was not easy, a lot of individual factors worked together to make the decision make sense, but it wasn’t easy.
In front of everyone at a crowded breakfast table I started to cry when the reality hit that soon, too soon, I was going to have to say goodbye. It wasn’t that I was going to miss him, that’s obvious and goes without saying. It was the fact that I know how lucky I am because I know my husband is truly one of a kind, a rare breed that is in equal parts encouraging and supportive. I know not everyone would be so willing to let their spouse stay in a dream destination while they returned to reality, but my husband encouraged me to stay. He went so far as to guilt me into it saying, “You might not have an opportunity like this again. You’d be a fool to turn it down.” And that’s why I cried. Because I was touched by his selflessness. I am grateful for my husband, for his understanding, patience and unconditional love.
After leaving him for the airport shuttle and walking away I felt the tears well up again but pushed them down. I am here because he wanted me to be here. I am here because I decided to stay.
We did a quick grocery shop for the house and then returned for an afternoon of napping, writing and posting selfies to Facebook. In the evening we played a round of Cards Against Humanity, which I won. If you haven’t played the game you should. It’s dirty and competitive and goes best with alcohol, any kind will do.
I don’t know who but someone got the idea to head to the beach for a night swim. Flashlights out we made our way down the stone steps to the pitch black beach and started walking. It was quiet except for the surf and other than a couple lights on in the kitchen of our house on the hillside (and our flashlights) there wasn’t a single man made light source to be seen.
We bailed on night swimming, probably for the best, and instead switched off our flashlights and looked up. The sky, a black navy sea, was blanketed in stars. More stars than I’ve seen in a long time twinkled down at us and we were silent, taking it in and remembering this as the sky of our youth. There aren’t any stars in Toronto, they’ve had to compete with the light pollution for so long they’ve just given up, no match for all the building lights and street lights and billboard lights. Sometimes I forget that they are up there at all. Here they are clear and bright, strong in the night sky. Defiant.