A time to mourn

Exactly one year and 5 days ago, I left Colombia.  Not that I'm counting or anything.

When I first left, I cried every single day.  It felt like breaking up.  Except with like 15 people at once.  My life as I knew it was over, and I didn't really have much to take it's place.

But, color comes back to grey days.  I lived new adventures, made new friends, saw God at work in my life in new ways.

Grief has a way of circling back though, and catching you when you're least aware.  Suddenly, I find myself in tears all over again.

Maybe, somewhere subconsciously, I felt like I'd just pressed "pause" on my life in Colombia.  Everyone and everything was waiting just how I left it, and when I was done here, if I wanted, I could slip back into that old life.

But, changes are happening a world away, and they're knocking that comforting little fantasy to pieces. One of my former housemates is moving back to the States.  Anticipating her transition, remembering my own just a year ago, stirs up all those emotions of my own.

Another housemate is getting married.  I'm so excited for her.  And so far away.

But both of those changes are a firmly closing door.  Those girls who I laughed, and cried, and stayed up way too late with trying to solve the worlds' problems, and consumed more pizza with than any of us probably care to admit, they won't be there for me to be housemates with anymore.

And, Luz y Vida isn't opening this year.  The school I taught at, and then directed, that I poured my heart into, that I worked on a curriculum for, hoping for a future, it isn't even open this year.  In some ways it's heartbreakingly sad.  In other ways, it's just confusing.  And in amongst that sorrow and confusion, there's a little tiny bit of relief.  A relief that says, "see, leaving was the right decision, even if there were moments you wished you were back, what would you be doing now?"

So, I mourn again.  I mourn for doors that are firmly closed.  I mourn because you can't step into the same river twice.  And I cry for something beautiful that is gone now.