December 14, 2012

I remember when I had to get a shot without my mom for the first time. It was a now-or-never moment and eventually, when I could muster up enough courage, I’d extend my bare arm towards that needle. I held my breath as every nerve pricked up and waited to feel that sharp bevel slice through. Once I realized the pain I had anticipated hardly described the prick I felt, I could open my eyes and breathe again.

It’s going to be like that on Sunday. I’m anticipating uncomfortable moments, awkward conversations, and falling to the mercy of my emotions. But it can’t be as bad as all that. So for now, I’ll hold my breath with every nerve in my body straining against my better judgement, and then move on.

I’m coming home. I’m finally coming home. What will I find when I get back?