Rarely am I successful.
Though it was a little over seven months that I stepped off a plane at London Gatwick Airport, I feel as if it was just yesterday. And though it's been over four months since I stepped off a plane at the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta, I have yet to forget what happened during the three months I was gone.
I'd like to say that I can forget, that I can compartmentalize all my feelings and emotions and pretend that even though life sucks I'm still okay. But that's a lie. I feel too much, I think far too much, and those feelings are now a part of my makeup. Sigh.
Sometimes I wish that I wasn't so intentional, that I would stop slipping letters into envelopes and licking the flap shut, or typing paragraph upon paragraph before hitting send, or clicking a name and face that pops up in facebook chat and saying, "Hi." I tell Alasdair that I get weepy every time someone from L'Abri sends me something. He tells me that's because I love everyone so much.
And I do.
My family is scattered across cities, states, and countries. We'll never all be together again and I can't help wallowing over this realization. Daily. Sigh.
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