Monday, August 10, 2009

Last

Our last few days in DC we nearly perfect. While Mikey finished up at the office, I was busy at home packing our things and trying to figure out how much we'd have to pay to get our bags home. I met him at the office on Monday afternoon and we went to Georgetown for dinner and cupcakes.

I'll miss that place.

I'll miss the canal and the bricks; the smell of damp wood and dirt and people crowding down the narrow sidewalks on M Street. I'll miss the variety of faces, the diversity of sound. I'll miss the rush. The pace. The pulse.


After dinner we walked to the Lincoln and spent time there looking over the city and watching the sun set over the Potomac. I'll miss that vein that runs through the city. Second only to the underground veins that keep everything connected, in motion, commotion. The Metro ride home felt good, good that it was the last time. What used to be exciting and like the gift of time while you got from one place to another has become cramped and dirty. It's not as magical as it was when we first arrived. But I think I'll miss it sooner than I think.

We read on the porch and waited for our neighbors to get home. We talked for over and hour--about war, about society, about God--and then crawled into our little bed downstairs for the last time.

The next morning I had nothing left to do but wait for the hour when I was to pick up Mikey and we were to ride to the airport. And fly home. To pass the time I wrote a few more thank you notes and mailed a Book of Mormon to a woman I met out her. I have no idea how she'll take it or what she'll do with it, but I kept fighting the nagging feeling to send her one and finally had to give in.

This past summer has been an invaluable experience. Invaluable for our marriage, for our ability to cope, for our emotional strength, for our testimonies, for our . . . So many days were completely irreplaceable. So many days were so completely hard. Most days were full, and not just because I had work for 14 hours and then had to stop by the grocery store on the way home right before starting a load of laundry and picking up the mound of shoes that always accumulated by the front door, but because I felt myself expanding to the edges of my skin.


My heart never knew so much in so short a time.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for making it possible. All of you. And especially my Mikey.
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