First off, apologies for not updating in weeks. Things have been crazy with a new apartment, new job, and new freaking husband. And we don’t have Internet in the apartment (have to walk to the Mexican coffeeshop a couple buildings down…free WiFi, great iced hazelnut lattes). But here’s something I wrote a couple of days ago in the car.
* * * * *
on moving away.
There comes a time when the necessary good-byes have been said and when you have mourned the change of life’s seasons to the degree required for the magnitude of the odyssey upon which you are about to embark. And then it is time to go.
As Jon and I pulled out of the parking lot of the banquet hall where his cousin’s wedding reception was being held, we both smiled and fought back tears. Tears perhaps for the 13 hours of overnight driving that now lay before us. Tears for our own wedding reception only just a week before. Tears that mimicked the rain that had just begun as we ran to the car, packed to capacity with wedding gifts, suitcases, and personal effects that told the story of our lives and would form the foundation of our new story in Washington. Tears that reflected the welling in his father’s eyes as we smiled and turned to go. Tears because we were happy to be going. Tears because we didn’t want to leave.
In ancient times, the family––or at least, the tribe––remained, if not in the same place, at least together. Save for the occasional renegade, the prodigal inspired––or condemned––to wander.
We chose Ruth as the verse upon which the wedding ceremony would be based. Retrospectively, more appropriate than we could have known.
Where you go, I will go…