MONDAY, May 23, afternoon

Something inside me told me not to go. We were supposed to go back to Atlanta on Sunday afternoon, but I bitterly cried at the thought. Maybe it was because 24 hours is not enough time to spend in Columbus when this was my first visit in 6 months. Maybe it was because Saturday was such a lovely day-- I flew home, I was reunited with my parents, I flopped puppy ears and squished puppy faces for hours, I dug through a bag of treasures brought to me from the Caribbean, I got to see Nana and Papa, I got to pray for my best friend between contractions, I spent time with the friends who had become like family (and the ones I love the most, at that: Nathan, Ashley, the Rices, LB, T-Nip, Blake and Barak, and a few others), and, best of all, sweet Emma Grace entered the world at about 10pm. Best night ever. Maybe it was because seeing who I saw made my whole heart ache. Maybe it was because being here in these moments makes this place feel more like home than any other place in the entire world. It’s not that I’ve made a mistake-- Southeastern is where I am supposed to be, Wakefield is where I am supposed to be, but Columbus unequivocally has my heart and when I leave this place, there is a ripping that I can feel, like it’s wrong when I leave, like it’s wrong that I’m “doing life” somewhere else. And though I know I am “doing life” in the right place for now, I absolutely do not feel like this when I leave Raleigh. Raleigh doesn’t haunt me when I’m away and her people don’t haunt me for weeks like he does... But maybe it was because everything about Columbus feels fleeting. Time here is so short. The people I love here are either fragile or they are the strongest that I know. In both cases, I am compelled to love harder, to work harder to maintain, and to return.

I am thankful for my incredible seminary, for the professors there who teach me more than book-stuff and who take the time to know me, for the seminarians who I have met, who I have shared many laughs with, and who I have traveled the world with. I am thankful for my sweet church, for the opportunity I have had to serve, for the men who teach and guide me, for the adorable children and for their parents who allow me to love their children. There is no way I could complete my education (in both the seminary and church sense of that word) here in the same way. But if I could uproot Southeastern and all that comes with it and if I could serve and learn and grow at Wakefield, but I could do it all here, I would in a heartbeat. If I could have everything that I love about Raleigh with me in Columbus, I feel like I would be complete. 

How in the world am I SUPPOSED to be there when I feel like this place is home. How can I be in two places at once? I can’t possibly, but that is absolutely what I feel like is happening to me.

SUNDAY, May 22, breakfast

For months and months, we’ve been trying to get her out of the house, to take her somewhere besides the doctor’s or her hairdresser. Time and time again, plans to go to the mall or out to lunch have been axed at the last minute, most the time at his command, but sometimes, out of her exhaustion (which, I secretly wonder if it’s just her way to shut him up, or to make him feel like he’s right). When she found out I was coming home, she got so excited. She told me we’d go shopping for my birthday, have lunch at the Ruby Tuesday, and share some chocolate cake. With Mom coming into town, too, it would be just like when I was a little girl and the three of us would spend an entire Saturday at the mall--hair, nails, clothes, treats. 

The whole family woke up and got ready. It was just like old times--the guys cooking a big breakfast and the girls getting dressed up. Mom cozied up next to Nana at the kitchen counter and went through the day’s plans with her: 

“We’ll have breakfast, then we will go to the mall and do a little shopping. We can have lunch together, then come home and pack. Bekah can go see Casey and the baby, then Ken wants to be on the road by 5.”

“I’m too tired today.” And with that, Nana walked away and Mom and I stared at each other, dumbfounded and disappointed. Weeks of planning out the window in four flat words.

SUNDAY, May 22, bedtime

Something inside tells me that I should be writing everything down; Consciously making memories with the intent to keep them, as if this is my last chance to make them. Like how her nose crinkles when she giggles or gets tickled at herself. Like how her shoulders squish up to her ears, and the little excited wave she gives when she comes around the corner and sees me sitting there, as if she forgot I was even there in the first place. Which she very well may have; I told her three separate times that I’d be staying a few extra days, and each time telling her was like the very first time. She’s been forgetting a lot lately. Even still,

“Oh Nana! You’re so much stronger than you were this time last year!”

“Yep, she’s come a long way in the last year”, Papa agreed.

“I set the table for dinner and I did all my walking between the kitchen and the dining room” she said, more so for her own edification than for our knowledge. Maybe she was trying to cover up the wheelchair she was sitting in. She got up and disappeared around the corner, probably to put on her night cream and her other Southern lady potions and serums.

“I’m exhausted” he confessed. “It’s been a hard year and I’m tired.” And with that, he went to bed and left me sitting there in the kitchen, wondering if I falsely imagined her strength and wondering if I’ve got a second person to worry about now.