Grief, I mean.
Grief about the community and call I’ve left behind.
I didn’t cry on my last Sunday.
I didn’t cry when our truck pulled out of town just minutes before the two hour fair parade began.
Yes, in the months leading up to leaving there were some tears. And in the nearly two years of preparing to leave, LOTS of tears. But when all was said and done, as I said goodbye to people and a place that I love, the people and place to which I was heading felt SO right that I didn’t feel sad about it.
I wondered if when the summer ended it would be harder, perhaps it hasn’t been hard because it is as if I’ve been away on vacation as I often was for a chunk of the summer.
And yesterday I got an e-mail from the church secretary saying that she’ll mail me the robes I left behind and a tie that “the boy who was bored”* claims belongs to Kev. It probably does. He is an observant kid when he wants to be. The secretary included in her post a few bits of news including the fact that one dear, sweet woman calls the church office at least once a week to inquire after our well being and seeking news of us. This pulled a heart string.
And then tonight I received a newsy e-mail from a true saint of the church, mostly updating me about the health of several elderly members of the congregation, including her husband who nearly died last summer, but is doing well and will celebrate his 91st birthday tomorrow. As I read her e-mail tears welled up.
I really do love those people.
*(if you go to the old blog and do a search for “boy who was bored”, you’ll find an unbelievable number of posts about him… this link just takes you to the first post, before he had a name…)