Who was that woman?

This morning-hectic, fraught with tension and worries was a comedy of errors, where the laughs fell flat. Breakfast was on the agenda but no one was very hungry for food. We were more hungry to scrape every morsel of time with our girls that we could pry loose and savor.

The airport parking was a major surprise, but the tenacious were rewarded. Checking the bags and getting checked in was a pain but finally sorted. Donna got a break on her overweight bag (I swear we weighed it last night and it was under 50 lbs.) and was not charged for those 2 extra pounds.

Then we got to relax in McDonald's for 40 minutes until we had to say our good byes. How did the time from my begrudgingly agreeing that "Yes, God, I'm ready to stop praying they don't go." to the flight today go so incredibly fast? I've kept telling myself since yesterday, it's not possible that she'll be gone for four whole months. What am I going to do?

Letting go of the girls was so very hard. Letting go of the tears was so very easy. Stopping the flow, not so easy. Rivers of tears have been cried already and I fear I have oceans more in me yet to be released. It's times like this that I wish I was more pragmatic and cold. Feeling this much is just too painful, like a raw wound splashed with salt water, it sears.

Abba God, I can't even begin to imagine the agony you felt for your Son, cut off from You as Jesus hung from the cross, unable to help or even acknowledge Him until He died. Because as horrible and helpless as I feel now, how much more magnified was Your pain. Teach me God, to rely on You, Jesus be my shelter and comforter, Holy Spirit, lift my head when I cannot.

You gave me a life-line with Cyndi and Lori, my partners in this four month wait. I know (in my mind) our daughters started their day as girls. But they didn't climb on the plane that way. Let me tell you a little tale. When I was pregnant with Jo, Donna was still a baby (eighteen months). She remained a baby to me until I walked back through our door with Jo. Magically, the daughter I had left less than 24 hours before had become a big girl. She hadn't changed from the two year old I left, but my perception of her had. Today, when Donna walked through that metal detector and came through the other side, she magically became a young adult woman; confident and capable just as she has been raised to be. Not because she hasn't been that for awhile, but it takes her leaving me to realize that.

Okay, it's time. I have to blow my nose, pull up my socks, and get a grip. Otherwise, the next four months are going to be excruciating and I still have a daughter and husband at home who need me. Not the mental me I've been for the last week, but the one who can "hang" in the toughest of times. I'll just pray and pray, wait for the Troika to come home, and let God teach me what it is I need to learn. All I can say is that it must be a humdinger.