Where the Water Was Clear and Time Was Kind
A graduation trip, a quiet island, and the shifting tides of motherhood.
Some moments are so sweet, they blur everything that came before and everything that comes after.
“This is what I’ve dreamed of, Mama,” said my seventeen-year-old graduate. At that point, it didn’t matter how much the trip cost or what else happened along the way—the mission was already accomplished.
For years, Jo and I have daydreamed about taking a mother-daughter trip for her graduation—something that felt like ours. A soft launch into her next chapter, just the two of us. Gilmore Girls was probably to blame for planting the idea, but it stuck. So, I booked the trip, packed our favorite bikinis and dresses, and left the mainland.
Puerto Rico in and of itself is beautiful. Spending most of our trip on Isla de Vieques was extraordinary. A quiet, sleepy, disconnected Caribbean island. Everything on Vieques moved a little slower—except time. That slipped through our fingers.
I have a few friends who spent part—or all—of their childhood in the Caribbean and after just a few days, I understand the pull, the love, the connection. I understand why Jimmy Buffett was able to build such a successful career upon his Caribbean stories.
Watching my not-so-little girl explore the clear blue water in awe was pure magic. Listening to her glee when she found her Moana shell and hearing her excitement when she swam upon a little ray are memories I’ll cherish for years to come.
This week was almost like getting a little peek into the future to see what our friendship will be like once she’s grown and built a world of her own. It’s bittersweet, this shift. But I’m so grateful for the friendship blooming in its place—the one I’ll get to grow into, even as I gently kiss the little girl goodbye.