Coming Home

I knew this would be hard. I didn't expect it to be easy. It's the coming home. . .after a loss. Things have changed. We knew when we walked in the door there wouldn't be a floppy, wiggling mop to greet us. At what point had we come to expect this? 3 years ago there was no such thing as this floppy, white (sometimes) mop. But there it was, something we had grown to expect. Something that made the coming home what it should be.

We had grown used to the greeting. Expecting it. There was a lot of coming home this year. With me travelling to take care of mom, I came home quite a few times. . .longing to get here to receive hugs from kids, sweet kisses from my beloved, and body wagging greetings from the P dog. 

But this time. . . it was quiet. 

Coming home was different. 

There was no onslaught of a white tornado, no wiggling or wagging. 

No, it was silent.

And all I could think of was our real home going. Someday we are all going to go the way of the earth. And that home going won't be silent. 

And I imagine the first greeting I receive will be a white tornado, wiggling, wagging and sneezing.

Psalm 30:5 ...weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.