There Are Absences That Make No Sound When You Emigrate
HAVANA TIMES — I thought the hardest part would be getting used to the distance. I never imagined I would also have to learn to live with the helplessness of not being able to return to say goodbye to my little dog, without one last hug or one last caress. Without being able to look into her eyes and tell her that we never stopped loving her.
That beautiful little four-legged angel, with her muzzle full of tenderness and a sensitivity that allowed her to sense us even before we walked through the door.
Her name was Luna.
She was thirteen years old and had grown old alongside our family. She knew the house better than any of us and greeted us with that pure joy found only in beings who love unconditionally.
She wasn’t just a pet. She was family and, without even knowing it, she also held together that little miracle we called home.
Sometimes I think that, of all the farewells forced upon me by emigration, hers was one of the quietest, and one that still hurts me the most.
We wanted to bring her with us. We tried again and again, but we discovered that some goodbyes are not determined by how much we love, but by the limits that life and distance impose on us.
It still pains me to think that she could never understand why, one day, we simply stopped coming home.
Luna is gone now.
And yet there are days when I still find myself looking for her without realizing it. I can no longer picture the house without thinking of her. Because there are loves that make no sound when they leave—they simply change places.
Sometimes I close my eyes and like to believe that my little dog is still running through some corner of memory where goodbyes do not exist, where we always arrive on time, and where no one ever has to be left behind.
Our little family was united around her. There was us, our daughters, and Luna. She was there through our happiest days, our simplest routines, and those moments that, without realizing it at the time, become the ones we miss the most.
When emigration forced us to be separated from our daughters, she remained the invisible thread that kept together everything we loved.
She meant so much to us that when my husband started his company, he decided to name it Luna Technologies. The name was no coincidence; it was our way of carrying a piece of our lives with us. Because Luna didn’t just live in our house, she filled our dreams, our plans, and gave us that simple feeling that as long as she was waiting for us on the other side of the door, everything was still in its rightful place.
And then I realize that we were not only fortunate to share our lives with her. We were also privileged that she left her wonderful paw print in every corner of our history.
I like to imagine that she is still here, still doing what she knew best: keeping us company. No longer from the doorway of our home, but from that place where the loves that can never be erased continue to live.
And when I think of her, I don’t remember the day she left. What comes to mind are the thirteen years during which she taught us that a home can also have four paws, a muzzle full of tenderness, and a joy so contagious that it could light up your soul.
Read more from the diary of Dany Cesario here on Havana Times.