They've gone. Little brother with littles of his own who resemble their mother, and a father who was back again after only ten months. What was left was as it always is: tired, dirty, quiet with finality, and the feelings all out of sorts. The deep missing I feel so strong, because it's born of love, is back, and I don't know what to do with it.
I can't put it away with the extra blankets and pillows, it won't be swept up as crumbs and extra foot traffic across my floors. It's a leftover much like the ones in my fridge; I'm never sure what to do with it until time makes it no longer fit for consumption and it can be thrown out.
Home is usually our familiar house on my usual street. But today home flew north to Boston and drove all day towards Texas with strawberry blondes singing Journey songs in the backseat.
And even with a lifetime of practice, I still don't know what to do with that.
4 comments
You sing along.
ReplyDeleteYou know. . . It has always been this way. Always the let down after you all left. Emotions that left us numb. . . Yearning for the next time we'd be together. It was always the same with the anticipation, awaiting your arrival. Could it be that way with Jesus, how he longs for our home-going, longs for our intimate conversations and devotion. . . Aching with you.
ReplyDeleteJuly 2, 2011 9:58 AM
One of the hardest lessons in life is learning how to multiply our love and not divide it. Once I learned that lesson, my life expanded exponentially!
ReplyDeleteThe way you ended this, Dawn, how could it not strike heart string? Home, leaving home, and leaving home – different. Wow. I sit here a little dumbfounded at the depth of that thought – and your heart. God bless you Dawn, and thank you for this.
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