My glance falls to the date on my computer calendar. 15th. Panic begins to rise within me. I catch my breath, trying to stop my thoughts for a moment, trying to prevent unwanted realizations from occurring. The only thing my head screams is “18th”. The date I’ve been dreading for the past 3 months. And here it is. Looming, ominous and foreboding, over me is the fact that in three short days I leave. Again. And I don’t want to go.
Every time I think leaving will get easier. And yet somehow I don’t want to examine my heart because I’m scared of going to a place I can’t return from. I’m afraid of wallowing in the “what ifs” and “if onlys” and not being satisfied with “what is”. But I cannot ignore the paralyzing sensation as I try to muffle the rising hysteria from within.
What if I never return? What if I never see them again? What if they never know…that is what kills me most. What if they never know how much I love them, how much they mean to me? What if they forget me? What if they are capable of doing what I fear I’ll never accomplish: Move on.
Maybe that is one of the reasons I hate to go. Each time I move away, there is a greater possibility that I will move on emotionally as well. And I’m scared of where that will take me. I don’t want to lose my home. I don’t want to lose those people that mean the world to me now by creating a new world for myself out of preservation. I don’t want these to become “the good ol’ days” just yet.
My hands ache to hold this moment in time. To hold on and never let go. And as I lay here, paralyzed, afraid, the seconds pass by. Time moves on. I release my breath as I realize: so must I.
Take your heart with you. The heart that He has given you. Be found in Him.
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