The other five people in this world who make up the Scott family.
I was just standing in the kitchen this morning, getting my breakfast ready, and this song popped into my head.
And I sang it, and the catches in my voice came. The tears started to pool. I simply miss them.
Then, just moments ago, I reread the post that I wrote before going to college, right *here*. Not only can I never read that without crying, period, but reading it now with an even bigger separation, the gasping cry comes.
I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to cry when they left. Scared that I would try to hold it together so much that I shut out my feelings and simply became numb.
And numbness came to some extent, but I cried. As much as I ever cry.
My father held me, the one who has guided me through all aspects of growing up. The one who helped me apply for my credit card and practice my driving and bequeathed the family cellphone to me and explained the plan and everything. And I basked in his warmth, in his strength, in his smell, in his solidity, the one who's been my guide and shelter, providing an ever present picture of my heavenly Father. The one who sits out in the living room in the morning doing his devos, whom I know prays for me, whom I respect more than anyone else I know. The tears trickled down my cheeks and melted into his shirt, and he hugged tighter.
My mother who has guided me through the craggy ups and downs of everyday life. Who keeps me updated on families back here in Thrills, who has shown me that friendship with your children is not only possible, but is the best way to live. Who has been my confidante and friend. Who is the first one I call with exciting news. And her eyes grew red and they started me crying, because whenever I see her cry, I have to cry. It's just how it works. Then, later M gave me an envelope that she had given him to give to me after they had left. And even before I opened it, the tears started to roll, as I looked at her scripted Christabelle on the front. Her words were such a comfort, even as the inspired more tears.
My sister who wanted to stay up late and talk about everything running through her mind. The one with whom I shared a bed for the last few nights. One who I am so incredibly proud of because of what she's doing. If you think I'm courageous for staying behind, look at her. She's going out there with them, to a place she hasn't been for five years, and going apart from my parents to teach some children and garner experiences for which there will never be a replacement. She is a constant example and challenge to me.
My brother who is now allowed to be taller than me, since he's on a different continent. The one who's now learning how to wield a machete and is getting a world-class education on multiculturalism and hands-on experiences. I'm personally crossing my fingers that he'll come back a soccer super-star... Siblings can hope, can't they?? Not only that, but I hope that he will be growing closer to the One I know he has an incredible heart for.
My littlest sister who sent me a package of nerds and peanuts while I was at Millar, telling me that I was a nerd as well as a nut. Who just moments ago, through my mother chatting with me on Facebook, called me a nut once again. It's a little game we play, you see. She starts with peanut, I say some other nut, normally walnut, she says peanut, I say pecan, she says... and it goes on until I inevitably beat her with my superior knowledge of nuts. My little cuddle-bunch and monkey whom I held at the airport, with her legs wrapped around my waist.
The best part is I know that they're where they're supposed to be. I feel no regret in staying behind, which has been an incredible blessing from the One who knows best. And even as I grieve, it's not because of pain or hurt, but rather just plain missingness... and He knows. He holds.
But it's just one of those face-watering days.
