Away Achings

The “away achings” are different then the “Bad Bamenda Days” when you hate the deep potholes and you feel entitled to a hot shower and you are sick of squashing ants even though you just sprayed the whole house and it stinks. When you can’t even communicate a deep thought with someone who speaks the same language. When the fridge breaks and the car needs work for the fourth time this month.

It’s different from the “remember when” days when you reminisce about life before.  “Remember when mom used to say ‘fine, eat a hunka munka cheese and a glass of milk’ when we didn’t like the meal” (now those are treats) or “remember when we use to squirt whipped cream in our mouth”.  Or “remember when we use to do gymnastics, and piano, and soccer”. Or when we say “remember how big our house was and how we played Wii all the time”. Or “remember when I drove 25 mph and thought it was slow”.

No, the “away achings” are worse.  They creep up most around family issues.  “What, we can’t be there for the graduation”.   Really, the “baby” will be two when I meet her”. It comes strongest with death.  How can I not be there when Betty’s mom dies, when Jennifer’s mom dies, when Jan’s mom dies?  There is just the cold email to relay my love or a fragmented skype call.

Where is the meal, the hug, the quiet time of tears? To be there during the months that follow to just be there and they know you know how hard it is.  When the wretched word “Hospice” appears on my computer screen” and I want to pack my bags and head out on the next flight home.

It hurts. It tears away in your stomach and in your heart. My tears well up at the smallest thing and I long for home.  I trust God, and know we are meant to be here.  But we give up things to come here.  It is not the “things” we give up, but the intimacy with those we love. Two years has gone by in a blink, but it is a long time to be away from loved ones.

-Joy