Monday, February 6, 2012

Every Tear a Waterfall

Oh, Coldplay has it right this week. I'm stuck in the gap between the two trapeze. We've gone too far to back out and we're flying through the air with the hope that we'll grab the trapeze swinging towards us high above the ground.

At work this weekend, one of my coworkers asked me what my days off were and I realized, I don't have any days off this week! Thursday is my last day and leads into days off upon days off from the store. In case I haven't mentioned four or five hundred times in the last while, I really have loved my job and particularly the people I work with. The women I work with. Let's be honest...who thought working with almost 30 women would be fun! (Boys need not reply!) It's been so great...what an amazing bunch of women and despite all our different backgrounds, ideas, lives and day to day's been such a great experience. I've learned so much from these ladies...from college girls to moms to grandmothers...these women seriously made the last few years of my life so rich. So, of course, when I left work yesterday and grabbed yet another batch of boxes to pack up with...the tears threatened in the car on the way home. Distraction works and I made it onto my street without a single tear until I round the corner and there is Natalie, our six year old neighbour, giving Aidan grief for throwing his body her direction in a game of street hockey. She's yelling and complaining about how it's rude to point your butt at someone when you're playing hockey. He's towering over her and trying to take her seriously and it's one of those great scenes that embeds itself into your mind as your gangly teenager treads lightly on the feelings of an indignant tyrant who comes up to his knees. I found myself cheering Natalie on and then pulled into the garage and the tears began. There's a lot to miss in leaving our lives here. I knew this time would come...when doubts and misgivings and just plain old comfort would gang up and make this all feel like a really poor decision. And yet, I can't help but cling to the words we hear over and over from parents with children older than ours - "I always wanted to do that!" and "I sure wish we'd done that with our kids!" It reminds me that it's okay to mourn the losses as long as I don't lose sight of the gains.

1 comment:

Jacquie said...

It's scary and it's tough, for sure, but similar words from my dad helped me climb that same fear.
"I sure wish I would have done something like that. You go. You do this."