My Village

If it were up to me, I'd leave town in the middle of the night.

I'd load the truck and sneak out of town and hope that all of my friends would think I was on vacation until they forgot about me.  I'm no good at goodbyes.  They are awkward and sad.  I want to say, "I'll see you soon!" but I have no idea exactly when I will see them or if I'll see them again.  I don't want to cry and I don't want them to cry.

But I can't sneak of in the dead of night.  I owe them more than that.
 
They say it takes a village.

And I don't think anyone knows that as much as a Mom that has battled for her children's lives as much as I have.  Through infertility, foster care, and open heart surgeries my people have carried me through some very dark days, celebrated some monumental victories by my side.

They have cheered me on, kept me going.  Provided roots to this displaced Northern girl trying to find her way through Southern Belle-ness.

And now, as I'm counting down the days until we get to pick Andrew up at the airport, I'm suddenly very aware that I'm simultaneously counting down to the day I leave My Village.

Some of these girls I've known since my first month in Georgia.  Others I've picked up along the way.  A lot of women don't have many girlfriends, but I'm not one of them.  I have an abundance of friends that I know would drop it all and run to my aid.

Or sneak out after bedtimes to sit on my porch and make my lonesome self laugh.

 

My friends are real and true and I'm pretty sure I'll never be able to replace any of them.

I'm going to miss My Village.