I planned on writing a blog Friday before I left the apartment for the trek home to the Shoal Creek house one last time.
Didn’t happen. Instead I hurried home to DH and walked into an almost empty house that still needed a little packing, and I got busy working.
If I had blogged at the apartment, it would have gone something like this:
But since I didn’t blog Friday the real emotion of that day is gone, replaced with something completely different, completely unexpected.
When I hit the Wichita Falls city sign, passing the water tower and the old lot where Uncle Lynn’s used to stand before the big fire that burned it down–a fire I saw on the way home with a bus full of kids on a Rider J trip–a lightness filled my heart, a buzzy, bubbly feeling of love and laughter brought on by the knowledge that in ten minutes I’d see Brian.
I turned into our neighborhood, surprised to see the progress of all the new house construction, slowed to 20 and saw the little Stone Lake was full, noticed a For Sale By Owner house was now up by a realtor and saw the rock yard houses–houses built at the end of the drought that made people around the US wonder if Mother Nature would destroy the town after all–still looked good for a change, which is nice because for over a year those beautiful houses looked junky with the weeds and overgrown plants.
I passed Robert and Sally’s house, but didn’t notice if they were home or out with their big dogs and rescues like they often are. Didn’t notice because Brian was out at the corner.
But when I walked into the house, the sadness I thought I’d feel at this last goodbye wasn’t there.
Will I miss Shoal Creek?
But not the house.
I’ll miss the neighborhood walks around the lake and sitting beside Brian, drinking coffee on the back porch and enjoying the beauty of quiet mornings.
But the house, mostly empty, isn’t a home. It’s like a skeleton of memories, and leaving this time is more exciting than sad. Because leaving this time means new beginnings, true new beginnings instead of this one foot in the old, one foot in the new.
I’m ready to say goodbye to Shoal Creek. A happy goodbye. That’s a nice surprise.