This past few days or weeks or something have been pretty tough. Honestly, I don’t think anyone can really be mad at me for being sad about moving, but I can’t help but feel like I’m doing everything wrong because my “grieving process” looks a lot different than even I thought it would. I honestly feel kind of fake because when I talk to people about the move, in order to preserve their comfort, I try not to make it weird by saying what I’m actually feeling, like “I couldn’t even pass high school Spanish, and at least that has the same roots as English! How am I supposed to communicate in Mongolian?”, or “You know, I’m terrified I’m going to regret giving away some of my belongings forever.”, or “I feel like I’m going to totally mess up the business and make my family suffer as a result.”. So usually, I’m like “Oh, ya know, sad to leave, excited to go.”
Despite all my big and small fears, I still do know this move is God’s will, if for no other reason than that there’s no way things could have worked out the way they have so far without His help. Selling our house alone is an immense miracle, and even though sometimes it’s hard for me to really feel the Spirit in my day-to-day life, focusing on evidence of God’s love and guidance really helps me to at least see His hand in it. Something I’ve learned is that faith isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision. And so even when I don’t feel the same level of warmth at home as I do at church, that doesn’t mean Heavenly Father isn’t there, or that my testimony isn’t enough.
I had a good cry tonight, about everything really, the graduation I’ll never get, the memories I know I’m going to miss out on, the sparkly shoes I had to donate to Goodwill because I don’t need them enough to bring them across the world, the roller skating activity I helped our young women’s class plan for a couple weeks after I leave, the books I learned to read on that we gave to strangers, my childhood dog and how she’s nearing the end of her very long life and how I won’t be there with her when she dies (my parents are sitting next to me writing about her and I can’t even find the words express what she means to me. I don’t remember a life without my Millie in it), and every little thing in between. I laid there scrunched up on my bed and wailed like a wounded animal, it was full-on snot smearing, puffy face, hyperventilating crying, the kind of crying I don’t do often. And then when I had gotten it out of my system I went upstairs and laid my head in my mom’s lap and her and I talked about our feelings and the whole ordeal– the crying and the talking– made me feel much better.
I honestly don’t know how well I’m going to take the next few weeks, because I really am so intimidated by the uncertainty of this whole ordeal. But I don’t have to know next week or next month or next year, I just have to know today, and maybe tomorrow. Now I’m going to go downstairs and have my last sleep in this house and maybe tomorrow I’ll have another little cry, but I can be sad and strong at the same time, and despite this deep sadness I’m feeling right now, I am truly so excited for this next big adventure.
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