Friday, January 4, 2013

Homeward Bound

Time stops for no man. This point of fact has been proven time and time again.

Those last days of summer-- no matter the age, swearing that each jump into the cold abyss will be the last one, rising out of the water and pushing its salty sweetness out of the way.

The first football victory of your first high school game. That moment, even if nothing is known about the sport, when the "W" has been solidified and the world seems to move just a half inch slower, it still does not stop for the cheering fans.

Seeing a man dance with his two daughters in the kitchen as dinner is prepared and the music plays on. This moment, while wanting to capture it for eternity- cannot be stopped. Time marches on.

The weeks leading up to college graduation- the weather is beyond perfect and the freshman are just starting to arrive on campus. Looking at them, you know that they are in for one hell of a ride over the  next few years and, looking back, you realize that the journey concluded all too fast.

Dancing. Anytime. With anyone- especially with someone who knows what they are doing. Dancing. The song should just go on forever, and yet... it stops.

It all has to stop. Because there are always new moments waiting to be made. And we are given the opportunity to have more breathless moments and wish once more for the moment to freeze.

If that summer never ended, than I would never have seen that man dance with his daughters. If that football game had paused in the rhythm of life, how would I have gone to college and seen that there was so much more?

And so, here I sit, with two daughters in the den- one playing and one looking around, taking in her surroundings. And I sit with the knowledge that this journey in this metropolis will be making a conclusion sooner rather than later.

We will pack up our 1300 square foot apartment and bid farewell to so many things. Saying goodbye to a nomadic lifestyle that has us living three years at a time and a conclusion to Husband's training are the two easiest things to tip our hats to. Hugging friends and packing those memories into a box to carry with me will be the hardest.

Our family will be returning to its foundation in Georgia. As I have said, our roots were entwined in the red clay of the Savannah River without even noticing. Our daughters will grow up in the shadow of the arches of Athens, on the bunkers of lush green golf courses, the dove fields of McDuffie County, and the waters of Clarks Hill.

They will grow up as I did- in fair Augusta, attending Mass at the church founded by their family generations before them, learning and then teaching ballroom dancing, debbing in white silk dresses in a guild created by the blood that runs through their veins, running down the canal's clay road dug with hands known hundreds of years prior, and making a life for themselves all their own.

Going home will be an adventure- I am determined to make it such.
Going home will be wonderful- There can be no other way.
Going home will be a change.
Going home will be wonderful.

Time stops for no man, no woman, and no child. These children will grow, Husband and I will age, and life will continue to blossom and evolve.

We are lucky, lucky fools that it cannot stop.


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