in person

After I came out of the non-believer's closet to my family, a couple months passed before I saw any of them in person. I'm sure there was weeping and wailing, confusion and discussions, praying and fasting, but I didn't have to witness it. I didn't have to go to the house for Sunday dinner, feeling awkward and wondering if anyone would bring it up. No one called to ask why, everyone just gave me plenty of space, and I gave them theirs. My parents had been eagerly asking when they could come visit, but stopped asking.

Even though it wasn't the year to visit my family for Christmas, we thought this would be a good year to visit both families, so we decided to split our Christmas vacation between two states. I wanted to be there in person, showing them that I'm still happy and normal. I wanted to assert that, even though I "gave up eternal family-hood in the Celestial Kingdom," I still loved them and wanted to be with them.

I already wrote about that first visit. But I left out a detail.

I remember this:

It is my parents' tradition to park their car at the airport and meet whoever they are picking up near the baggage claim, rather than at the curb. They like to do this to make us feel special, and it does, really. It's exciting to come down that escalator and cross over the map of the world on the floor, and catch that first glimpse of my parents, tense in thrilled anticipation of seeing us and their grandkid again. I generally don't show much emotion on my face, but it always makes me smile to see them at the airport. They smile, I smile, we hug, exchange greetings, and head off to get the luggage.

But this time was different. This was the first time we saw them in person since our disaffection. As I crossed the floor and caught a glimpse of them, I could see my parents hadn't seen us yet. Then my mom turned and saw us.

She didn't smile.

Instead, she did this thing with her face, where she holds her lower jaw off to one side. It means she's trying to keep herself from crying. She's upset.

She wasn't happy to see me. She was torn up inside, happy but despairing at the same time.

I pretended like I hadn't seen it, and I smiled. I was happy to see them, but I, too, was feeling a turmoil of emotions.

Almost a year later, I was alone in the bedroom one night, and this memory came back to me. I cried myself to sleep.