Heart Split into Two Homes

"I see you everywhere. I miss you so much already, but I know you're happy and well, and I wish you all the best. You deserve it. That's what keeps me going. I love you so much." 

My grandma, Ivone, said these words when I called her before boarding for New York after spending a month with her in Brazil. And right before I got into that plane, I was sobbing again.

If you knew her, you'd understand how powerful these words are. She's not one to say "I love you" often. She never really initiated hugs, but always enjoyed it when I hugged her. And I'm also not one to embrace much. I always tell people that my heart belongs to her.

When my mom decided to immigrate to the U.S. in 1996, she asked Ivone if she would feel comfortable taking care of my sister and me; she responded that she'd "never leave our side, and couldn't imagine any other way." 

And up until I was 14, she didn't leave my side. But I left hers to live with my mom in NYC. While it was always part of the plan for me to move after elementary school, I felt so guilty in a way to leave her behind. And since 2009, every time I visit, the goodbyes don't seem to get easier. I spend less time with other friends and family members and more time with her.

After our most recent farewell, I kept thinking about other people like me: those who leave loved ones behind and stay with a heart split into two homes, two countries. Those who feel the unavoidable guilt of having better opportunities than their families, the yearning, and the feeling we need to take care of them. Especially if they had a tough upbringing, and even more so when they get older: you start seeing them become more and more fragile. When we spend time apart, you feel the shock of seeing them vs. if you were with them every day. 

I chatted with a few of my immigrant friends in similar situations, and most of them say the same thing: it always breaks our hearts, but we got to keep on moving on. 

We immigrants are never fully satisfied: when we're at the place we came from, there are moments we feel happy to have left for better opportunities. I end up missing my bed, routine, work, friends, and fiancé... But when you're with those from your childhood and say goodbye to them, you wonder if you made the right decision. 

What can we do to make this feeling go away? 

Well, I try to hold on to what my grandma told me right before I got into that plane. I'm doing well here, and I wouldn't be where I am—the good, the bad, and everything in between—without my life experiences, including leaving Brazil. I also hold on to the good memories, continue to care for my loved ones (like her) from afar, and dedicate my wins and success to this amazing woman who raised me. Finally, and most importantly: I try to enjoy every moment I can with those I care for here or when I'm in Brazil because we never know what tomorrow holds. 

Does that make it better? It does until I say goodbye to my grandma again.