It has been seven days. In the past 168 hours I have clocked in well over 3,000 miles by land and air. I have wept - Heaven knows I have wept. Fat round tears of grief that crash together until they cascade in one steady rush down my cheeks, running themselves dry before the sobs have quite stopped shaking my body. Light quick tears that get caught in your lashes as you try to hold them back, because it seems strange to feel so joyous and yet have tears in your eyes.
It has been seven days wrapped in the arms of brothers and sisters and old friends and a sweetheart who is loyal and patient. Of wandering off when everyone is sleeping to look at the stars myself and just breathe, letting my thoughts and feelings be what they are letting them go.
Of butterflies the size of dachshunds and knots the size of a cobras nest competing for time in the pit of my stomach. Of quick typing fingers and slow moving buses, of raspberry lace dresses and hastily pulled on hoodies, of hello bear hugs and whispered goodbyes. Of hoping no one is seeing you crying and basking in the glow of everyone laughing.
One of my friends described this week, these 168 hours of mine as a rollercoaster. And oh my friends, what a truth that was. And I promise you most sincerely that proper posts explaining the bedlam, the happiness, and the tears are on their way posthaste!
PS. . . who says "posthaste" anymore? Is this real life?