Three weeks from today I will be living in Columbia, SC. Mmmmhmmm. Three weeks. There is more life to live between now and then than I can possibly explain. Normal end of the year stuff with kids, twins' birthday parties, teacher gifts to get, recitals...but this year we're throwing in goodbye parties and a major life-changing move. No big. I find myself wondering about things like how do I forward my mail to my new address if we close on our house here a week before we close there? What things will we need to keep with us this summer as we live with my gracious and brave parents for a few weeks? And how in the world will we ever survive summer without a neighborhood swimming pool? I'm paying bills, changing doctors, registering for schools all while still trying to keep our little lives afloat here in Jacksonville while Ian is already gone to work in SC. I have to do all the things right now. So why do I find myself staring at the TV watching Kelly Rippa and Michael Strayhan tap dancing with Patricia Heaton? I'm in some sort of denial-type fog that is very difficult to lift. The fog is of course made thicker by the "eat chocolate, drink wine and don't exercise" plan I'm on this week. Winning.
It's hard to move. There's a lot to do. The paralyzing part, though, is not the list of stuff to be done, but the overarching knowledge that we are saying goodbye...to a lot of things and people we love. It's kind of like grief, coming and going at the strangest times. I find myself almost stoic when people are saying goodbye to me, expressing their hearts and really loving me well. Yet when I watched other people's kids get confirmed in church last week I was an ugly cry-er...right there in the pew. It's a strange business, being a human with lots of feelings.
So I'm pressing on. Tonight there is a soccer party, and the coach wants the parents and families to play in a big soccer game. This thrills me to no end, especially since I have to speed directly from said "party" to a going away gathering of some of my close friends. Smelling like a flower, no doubt. Just trying to go from one thing to the next and clinging desperately to the promise that I am not alone and I am dearly loved by a God who is walking with me. Leading me, actually...thankfully. There's a reason why we can only see right in front of our faces during times of grief...our minds are protecting us, helping us go from moment to moment, trusting the next breath will come, and then the next and the next. It strangely feels a lot like full life, where the saddness is deeper, but the laughter is louder and so very welcome.