And another day of packing in my past. A year ago it was a Sunday. This would have been our last time in our church home. For some reason, I thought it would have been more painful than it was. More of a big deal, not only from my perspective but from our church families perspective. Yes, there were several people saying goodbye and wishing us well. I watched several times as families had left the church to move on to other ventures. They had been called up to the front by our pastor during the church service and he had said several things about how long they had been part of the church body and what their next chapter in life would hold. I had always said to my hubby during the time when we knew we were leaving that soon that would be us. I guess I was sort of shocked when we weren't invited up that last Sunday or even a mention of us leaving the church. Maybe that's why it was much easier to walk out of there without any tears.
By the time we got home after church, the packers had already arrived and most of the kids rooms were already packed. We spent the rest of that day doing last minute preparations for the actual loading of the moving truck the next day. We had a last night hoorah at Cheesecake Factory with our J.J. and her mom. She had taken the kids that day and the day before for the packing. I forgot about that.
As I look back on this day, I remember that it was my last night in Cleveland, in my house. It still hurts. And I pay homage to those feelings. I feel like I have to, like I need to, like those feelings are something that needs to be honored. It was one of the hardest things I had to do - there is something to be said for that.
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