Leaving is never easy. It is a fact that I cannot change no matter how many times I say goodbye. It is what it is. I am fortunate to be able to come as often as I do, and more so that I have a family to come to visit. This month I have seen nearly 100 people mostly family, and friends that feel like family. A small town offers that sort of community, I have seen more people in a month than I see in a year in France. That is a fact of having a BIG family, of growing up in a tight knit rural faithful community, there is always someone to see and someone to miss.
I have never known a day where I am not missing someone.
The intensity of loving and being loved, what a gift.
Bittersweet too.
My brother Zane's rice field by my Mother's home.
I am usually home when these fields are being harvested.
This time I have seen them take root.
We took a drive on the dirt roads around the fields. The nieces were laying in the bed of the truck admiring the blue sky and taking a break from the heat wave that lasted two weeks.
While driving around the fields we searched the canal banks for wild blackberries. My Mom said next week they will be ripe, so blackberry pies will be on the menu.
Memories of childhood flooding my heart.
Making cookies is a steadfast ritual at my Mom's house. The cookie can, as my Mom calls it, is rarely empty. The nieces and nephews have an excellent teacher in their Va (my Mom).
Later in the day…
Shooting the bull.
Sitting taking it all in
one delicious moment after another.
Maybe this time I won't cry when I say goodbye.
But I wouldn't bet on it.
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