Some of you that read this blog may remember what I'm talking about here.
When I was younger, like oh, maybe 7 or8, (Not 16 like Troy would have you believe) I had some serious anxiety issues. There were so many times that I actually made myself sick because of the worry that came along with being separated from my mom. Church, school, when they would leave for the evenings. It was bad. Waaayyy bad.
I distinctly remember one occasion when Mom and Dad left to go water skiing with another couple, who it was exactly I don't remember, but I don't think it was Fred and Stevie. I remember them pulling out of the Shop driveway, towing the boat with the yellow Blazer. I remember standing in the doorway (of the big double wooden doors!) at the front of the house and just screaming and crying. I honestly thought I would never see her again. I know I had worked myself up into a frenzy because there were dark clouds, and it was "windy", which mean breezy, but I was a freak, remember? I can feel that some one was pulling me back inside, though I don't remember who it was. I'm sure it was Troy, but for some reason I sense that Nikki was there, too. Anyway, I'm sure those around me thought I was being a big baby. And I was. But there was real fear there. I DID NOT want my mom to leave me. I wanted to go with her. Or better yet, I wanted her to stay with me.
And here it is, some 25 years later, and I still get that feeling of screaming as she leaves me. I feel the pull of people around me, keeping me grounded, and keeping me sane. I see the same dark clouds approaching, but I also see that I will be safe here in the cocoon of the Gospel and the knowledge that I absolutely will see her again. Comforting, yes. But it certainly doesn't make this whole "enduring to the end" thing any easier.
I admit, and maybe I shouldn't, that I've often thought about what it would be like to just get it all over with and see her again. Don't worry, it's just thought proccesses, nothing more than that. But honestly, I know she's happy seeing us here going about our lives, and doing our best. She taught us how to do it, after all. But still, the leaving. It's horrible. It hurts. It physically hurts, just like when I was 7. I guess I'll always have that feeling. Only this time, I don't think people will accuse me of just being a baby.