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Well, it's been ages since I touched this "new" blog. I need to get back into it, I think. Since last I wrote, I did manage to buy myself a copy of Little Earthquakes, which has been living in my car and making me happy. I even made the kiddos listen to it on the way to the thrift store during our lock-in last Friday. They didn't whine, so I figure they must have thought it was ok.
Earlier this evening I was listening to The One Who Knows by Dar Williams and making myself tear up. I'm working on a slide show for the youth group, and Dar is for the section covering Transitions (when we say goodbye to seniors) and Youth Sunday. It's going to be very sweet. Of course, I can't finish that section until after Transitions, which is Sunday. I still have to plan this year's route out. Luckily, all the written parts have survived from the last two years, so only a little editing will be required.
It's been so strange to start the goodbye process. I'm still so wrapped up in getting these last big events accomplished, that I'm hardly noticing how quickly it's all going by. My last youth group is in 13 days. I know that, intellectually, but I'm not feeling it yet. Once it's all over and I'm gone, I'll feel it. That's how it always is for me. That last morning at TIP, crying all over Angela. Getting into my car after I got back to Orlando after Smith graduation, only to find that damn Thank You song (the one Lexi and I could never escape) on the radio. Listening to Ben Harper (Walk Away) as I drove down 91 and away from Rowe one last time. I mourn best in private, when I can turn over all the memories in my mind one by one, noticing their intricacies and beauty. Then, I store them away, fodder for the words that come later. I'm good at living in retrospect, with occasional forays into the present. And somehow, I'm ok with that. The present, when I'm here, is good. The past gives continually, and the future holds promise out for me to grasp.
So I will say goodbye, in my own way and in my own time. And years from now I will still find something of value from this moment and all the moments that have made up my time here.
1 comment:
Of the many things I learned at TIP, how to say an aching goodbye was one of the more painful.
I'm sure it's a bit of a different experience now, with the facebooks and the myspaces and the twitters and all the newfangled whatnot. Teenaged goodbyes don't seem quite as permanent anymore.
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