twenty-seven months

Two years is just long enough to be incomprehensible. To be honest, I am not preoccupied by the time frame: I know that once I get there, time will fly. Some two years drag by (junior high) but others are a blur (college).

Then again, two years is a lifetime. My little baby sister will be 18 when I get home; my brother will be 22 and I’ll be 25, halfway through my twenties. Flocks of my friends will have gotten married, graduated medical school and/or procreated. America will be in full 2016 campaign swing, and who knows where Lindsay Lohan will be by then!

I just want my people to know that I love them. It’s hard to communicate that in short visits and phone calls, sandwiched between packing lists and doctor appointments. My people (you!) continue to flood me with your endless encouragement, listening ears, valuable time and resources, problem-solving skills, handmade quilts, home cooked food, hospitality, advice, Target gift cards, flights, flowers…love!

It’s easier to be the person leaving, but it isn’t easy. But it’s strangely easier to leave when I know that I have a home to which I’ll return happily. Collectively, you make me feel loved, supported and missed. Rest assured that I love, support and miss you right back! My suitcase heart is only growing bigger, to stretch to continents once again.

Journey on,






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