Back dating number Um - Leaving
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The leaving was strange and not what I expected. I've written all this but then I spilled (the cross winds blowing in our windows did it) water on our laptop and fried it. The leaving - Driving past the house after we'd cleaned it and driven away. Within 2 hours the new tenants were moving in. They hadn't signed the lease yet. The house was still ours. We'd let it go, but it was still ours. My family sat in the TLF waiting for me to run a few last errands. I drove by and the knot in my chest gripped strong. That place where my children "grew up". Elijah wasn't 3 yet. Judah was an infant of 7 months. That yard was their childhood. That house was their memory. Joel joined our family, learned to crawl and talk there. Stopping the car and running in to tell them to get out wasn't logical, or an option. I felt protective. They were putting furniture in OUR memories. On our floors. They were stomping on the grass in my boy's backyard.
Joia and her little ones drove us to the airport. Others waited inside to say goodbye, farewell. Farewell and here's the end to face to face fellowship of 3 precious, full of growth incredible years. Trials, celebrations, babies, hurts, rejoices. Three years of creating "home". Support. She took pictures, like she does. We hugged. Tightly and for longer than usual. Eyes stinging but in shock - not letting go of tears. It just wasn't real. It couldn't be. Our 3 years of friendship, of sharing mothering moments, of growing. Certainly this is just a short voyage. We'll be back. We'll unpack our suitcases in OUR house that THOSE people are trampling. We'll get back together with our beautiful spiritual family. Go back to our beloved church body. Take the boat out on the bay again. Watch the boys disappear into their backyard again. Eat dinner on our back deck again, under our umbrella while the cicadas sing and the humidity drips down our skin. The southern evenings. Certainly this wasn't permanent.
The night before we had dinner with people we love. People that had shared so many of our joys and tears - who'd listened to me pour myself out, vulnerable. Who'd supported us. We squeezed them tight, not knowing what to feel. We drove from dinner with them to a walk with a woman who helped me keep my sanity. She came to clean. And she loved our boys. And we loved her. We love her still. Judah's heart was bursting. Confused in his limited understanding he refused to hug her goodbye. She wept in the parking lot as we wrapped our arms around each other. He refused a picture with her. Said he didn't love her. He wailed and refused her beckoning. It was almost too much to bear. His pained, confused heart. He adores her, but how does a 3 year old know how to let go? He didnt. So he cried. And argued. And fought it. He told her, "but you can't make my bed anymore!" She turned, choking on the knot in her throat.
Is it? It is permanent? Certainly we will go back, soon. It hurts too much to not.
Joia loaded her kids and drove away. Drove home to her house - just 60 seconds from our house. Our house now holding someone else's furniture. Someone else with no kids to cherish the backyard. No more just stopping by. No more 5 phone calls a day to a house just 60 seconds away. No more. A knotted chest.
We laughed and bantered awkwardly with our loved ones while our baggage was analyzed and tickets were printed. I looked at her closely, that dear friend with that beautiful big belly full of baby boy. Baby boy that I wouldn't get to hold. I looked at them all - the beautiful people in our lives. The few that could make it that morning. That love us and we love them. We hugged. They stayed until security had accepted us through and we took the escalator out of sight. They stayed until we couldn't see them anymore. Waving goodbye every time we turned. I turned the most. Grasping at every last moment, every last glimpse. These people that we love.
The nerves and adrenaline kept the tears down. Until the plane left the ground. I searched frantically for our house, for the bay - not having a clue what direction we'd turned in take-off. All these familiar places - home. The longest home we'd known since being married 8 years ago. The strongest connections. The most memories - 3 more hearts that have to let go - not just two anymore. Now five. Five hearts that have to let go. The knot hurt. It gripped harder as my chest silently heaved painful, stinging tears. Josh reached back and gripped my hand tight. Squeezing to reassure. Reassure that the way was paved. Reassuring that peace prevails. Reassuring that we were being obedient. Reassuring me.
Florida ground ended as we flew North East. And then it was gone.