A Blessing for Isabel

Saying goodbye doesn’t mean anything. It’s the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it.
Trey Parker and Matt Stone, South Park, Tweek vs. Craig (1999)

Are you local?
The League of Gentlemen


The house is eerily quiet. The guest room is empty, and my wife has already cleaned it out. Life feels a bit emptier.

Isabel is gone.

For the past school year, my wife and I have been the adoptive parents of a high school senior. A year ago, the Montoya’s—Isabel’s real parents—returned, along with their other two children, to their native Colombia after several years of self-imposed exile.

Isabel, who was about to enter her senior year at Balboa Academy—where my wife teaches history—wanted to complete her high school education in Panamá. Her parents, at the suggestion of the school’s director, asked my wife if Isabel could board with us.

I admit that when my wife proposed the idea to me I was extremely apprehensive. Did I really want a high school student in my house? Did I want to put up with strange music, dates, boyfriends, long telephone conversations, competition to be online, college applications, proms, prom dresses, graduation, and the loss of a bathroom? And although I had met Isabel on a couple of occasions, I barely knew her. What if this young woman turned out to be a harpy? But, trusting my wife’s assurance that Isabel and I would get along well and that everything would be fine, I agreed without making much of a fuss.

And things did turn out well. In fact, the past year was a fun-filled learning experience. It also helped that Isabel isn’t your typical adolescent. She relates better to adults than to her peers. She’s a homebody as well, which meant that she spent most evenings with the old folks rather than with her friends—making the past school year one of togetherness, like in a real family.

Among the year’s highlights: appendicitis (I was in the States giving readings of Bernardo when Isabel was operated on, leaving all the worrying and running around to my wife); watching every single episode—courtesy of Isabel’s “uncle” Ben—of the British television comedy series The League of Gentlemen (which makes South Park seem like Sesame Street); attending two thrilling performances of Dracula, in which Isabel played the role of Mina; Bollywood movie marathons; countless viewings of The Lord of the Rings; a school trip to Paris, on which my wife went along while I stayed behind to take care of the zoo; Poetry Nights; Poker Nights; and other fun “family” activities.

The year Isabel stayed with us was also the year in which I wrote the first draft of The Saint of Santa Fe. And since this novel takes place, in part, in Colombia, Isabel was a superb informant, helping me grasp the nuances of being Colombian—a nationality of which she is very proud and, after hearing her stories about Panamá’s southern neighbor, rightfully so.

More importantly, she was a loving daughter who fit wonderfully into our lives. With Isabel gone, the days have, for the time being, become a little dimmer.

As Isabel left for the airport to catch her flight to Colombia—where she will get a couple of months of rest before leaving for Canada to attend the University of British Columbia—I blessed her like we’d often seen in our beloved Bollywood films. Placing my hand on her head, I said: May you live a long life.

And, Isabel, may your life also be a happy one.