(no subject)
It hasn't hit yet.
All my family is here, and friends and church family will surround tomorrow, and there's furious cooking - can-opening, chopping, stirring, frying, baking, piecing, piling, freezing. And somewhere in the middle of it there's a diploma on the table and my cap and gown on a dining room chair, a program and a picture and a memory. I suppose I thought graduation would be monumental - the pinnacle, the beginning of the change. I suppose I wanted to feel liberated and accomplished. I do feel good, I feel...happy, I guess, in a way, but in a distant way, in a surreal way. It feels like I've been plunged under water - the voices and the faces are distant and blurred when they begin telling me it's over now. It's over now. You walked across the stage (and tripped, just in case they needed a reminder of humanity), and you grabbed the diploma and you shook hands...and you'll never go back to that school. When summer's over...I won't see the same faces and the same classrooms. I'll be over a thousand miles away. It hasn't hit yet.
It probably won't until I'm standing in a room that isn't familiar, classrooms I've never seen, faces I don't know. Then it'll hit. I have such delayed reactions to things. It takes so long to emerge out of that dream that nothing has changed.
God accomplished a lot in my life through this incredible school. And I don't want to leave, but I know that if He's done this much in high school, He'll move mountains in college. And that's wonderful. And the memories are wonderful. And I'll never forget it. Never.
But I'm not ready to stay goodbye.
Out.
All my family is here, and friends and church family will surround tomorrow, and there's furious cooking - can-opening, chopping, stirring, frying, baking, piecing, piling, freezing. And somewhere in the middle of it there's a diploma on the table and my cap and gown on a dining room chair, a program and a picture and a memory. I suppose I thought graduation would be monumental - the pinnacle, the beginning of the change. I suppose I wanted to feel liberated and accomplished. I do feel good, I feel...happy, I guess, in a way, but in a distant way, in a surreal way. It feels like I've been plunged under water - the voices and the faces are distant and blurred when they begin telling me it's over now. It's over now. You walked across the stage (and tripped, just in case they needed a reminder of humanity), and you grabbed the diploma and you shook hands...and you'll never go back to that school. When summer's over...I won't see the same faces and the same classrooms. I'll be over a thousand miles away. It hasn't hit yet.
It probably won't until I'm standing in a room that isn't familiar, classrooms I've never seen, faces I don't know. Then it'll hit. I have such delayed reactions to things. It takes so long to emerge out of that dream that nothing has changed.
God accomplished a lot in my life through this incredible school. And I don't want to leave, but I know that if He's done this much in high school, He'll move mountains in college. And that's wonderful. And the memories are wonderful. And I'll never forget it. Never.
But I'm not ready to stay goodbye.
Out.