About a week ago I did period math and realized that the height of my PMS would coincide with A– returning home. Being the thoughtful wife that I am, I informed Alex and he’s doing the only sensible thing he can do, building a bunker in the basement.
This week, we’re still having Big Fun, and the only difference is sometimes I shut myself in the pantry to ugly cry with the canned goods.
Deep loving means deep aching. Worth it.
I’ve hesitated to post anything because I can’t post everything. How do I share all the amazing and trembly things happening? God has written a beautiful story, and I’m reading every word with bated breath and butterflied tummy.
The good news, I have answers to some of the questions you’ve been asking. The better news, God has answers to all the questions I’VE been asking. The darn news, I can’t answer anything yet.
This final week of hosting is a mixture of fun, celebrating the ease and joy of a month-long relational rhythm, and stabs of pain out of nowhere, walloped with it’s-about-to-end. She’s hugging a little tighter, I’m hugging a little tighter, and my throat’s clenching a little tighter.
Deep loving means deep aching. The story isn’t over, but this chapter almost is.
But to refuse to enter into this loving for fear of the aching is not an option. We all of us are better for the risk. She’s one of us now, and we’re putting one of US on the plane in a few days.
I can’t go with her now, so I’m spending my nights pounding down jelly beans while working on pictures and notes for her to open each week. She’ll laugh at my clunky cyrillic lettering and attempts at cartoon mermaids and cut out hearts and pizza slices. It’s my way of reaching across borders to hug my little girl a little longer.
Deep loving means deep aching. And it’s okay to cry.
On Friday, we’re throwing her an early birthday party with friends and family and cake and pizza and presents and everything a nine-year-old needs to usher in a new year.
Endings are everywhere, and every ending kicks off a beginning, too. When childhood ends, adulthood begins. When summer ends, the new school year begins.
Our summer has been filled to the brim with loving and being loved. We have poured all the love we have into our precious A–, and as our time together ends, I see beginnings. I see hope and future. We all of us are changed.
And right now we’re a shimmering tear-puddle.