Life Goes On

I spent yesterday uncovering things. I found a three-page rhyming poem about my great-great-grandfather while I was packing the bookcase. The best part was
There was many a tree that fell at his swing,
The sledge on the wedge through the thicket would ring.

I like to make boundaries distinct. That's why I remember when we crossed the line into New York on Friday night. It was 10:13. I was curled to the left in the back seat of the car and when we passed the welcome sign, I slapped my hands down onto my legs. I think I'll always do that. I'll do it late this evening (probably 10:13 again) when we're passing the border going south.

In a few hours will be my dad's last sermon here and the last afternoon and then the goodbye party that's been in the works for months. They've said the first announcement was heartbreaking and doubly so because they could see dad was stifling his excitement. Now they say they've realized Life Goes On, and they will be excited in the same way we will. There will still be tears. I am ready for it. I don't often like to be the center of attention, but today I will be and today I am learning to revel in it, and stand up straighter because of it.