Leaving is hard
Leaving is always hard. But leaving with an unsuspecting little girl? Words fail me.
Now that we feel the release from school, from packing, from deadlines…now the grief sets in. I’m not just grieving for myself. No, I’m grieving for the little girl who is about to lose everything familiar. I don’t want to see the look on her face tomorrow when she wakes up and tries to find her kitties (they went to their new home tonight after she was asleep). I don’t want to watch her happily say good-bye to Caris without any realization of what that good-bye really means. I don’t want to call her back as she flirts with a waiter one more time.
Yes, she’s resilient and, yes, she’s going to see this move as a big adventure. She still has Momma and Daddy and Juba and her baby doll and her books and her banana leaf chair. But she has no context. And neither do I.
For the foreseeable future our family is without a context. We are living and functioning without a clear purpose. We are enjoying family and making new friends and eating food that we’ve missed, but we’re still waiting to feel at home. It’s a feeling that I know will never truly come. We’ll adjust and find a “normal,” but a piece of our hearts will always be waiting to hit up Afrika Bite on a Saturday or go for a family walk down our dirt road.