Tomorrow, you begin.
After 6 months of sometimes frantic, often paralyzing, always exciting preparation, you leave for the adventure of a lifetime.
Africa.
Since the day Flowered Bag met Gear Head and we fell madly, irrevocably, unapologetically, irreversibly in love, you've wanted to journey to the Dark Continent. From your home decor to your shoe selection, Africa has been a part of you for as long as I can remember. Zebras, and giraffes, and monkeys -- oh, my!
Life has taken us so many places together. Now, as you journey to the far ends of the earth, my heart is with you -- locked safely in your own. As you brave the Nairobi airport, I will be there beside you, standing ready with my sweet Karate moves and distracting Jazz Hands. When you teach wound care to those who never knew it was an option, I will support you with my imagined medical prowess. After all, you know I was almost a doctor. If only that damn Organic Chemistry requirement hadn't reared its ugly head...
Physically, however, I will be here, standing guard. What your three precious children might need, I promise I will provide. They are, after all, like my own. Always have been and always will be. Fear not, my friend. They are wrapped safely in my arms and in the arms of those others who love them most. And nothing compares to the soft, safe arms of doting grandparents and forever friends.
When you return, I will be itching to sit around the fire pit and listen to all your stories. Perhaps we'll have Dave Matthews and Lady Gaga in the background. Maybe it will be Michael Jackson. ("Hey, Pretty Baby, with the high heels on...") But I will listen with rapt attention and red wine and will bear witness to the transformation in your life. Because, indeed, there will be transformation. You will come back the same... yet vastly different. And your ever-expansive heart will be bursting with tales of adventure, of healing, of love, of a world bigger than either of us might ever have imagined.
Please bring your giggling, giddy husband back safely with lots of trophies and tales. (Tales, of course, not punctuated with contractions.) My husband will miss his best friend, will also wait with Scotch and cigarette in hand to hear about his pinpoint shotgun accuracy and stories of the Bush. (Not that bush -- those stories will come after the 2nd Scotch, of course.) Together, they will scratch themselves and slosh their drinks and laugh too loudly and stoke the fire into a raging inferno. And, as always, all will be well.
One month away from you is a lifetime. I will miss you fiercely, will think about you constantly, will pray for you daily, will undoubtedly shed a few tears when I realize how very far away you are. But still, you will be beside me -- just as you always are, as you always have been, as you forever will be.
Before you go, I must wish you Godspeed. (You knew it was inevitable.) We can both laugh at my irreverent and convenient semantic choice, but ultimately, we both know that our one shared God will be holding you tightly with both hands as your plane takes off for worlds unknown, as your souls and hearts are forever altered, changed, expanded.
You will be the finest of teachers. You always have been. Your beauty, grace, wisdom, wit, and love will bring you an entourage of devoted followers in an unknown land.
Your adventure awaits.
I love you with my entire heart and soul, my friend. When you find the best hill upon which Ethan and George can raise monkeys as their babies, call me. After all, those monkey-grandbabies will be ours to love and cherish someday.
Holding you gently in my heart until your safe and triumphant return --
XOXO,
Katrina
