Well, as much as I like words (I really, REALLY do), they simply don't suffice to describe the myriad of sentiments I am currently experiencing. Hermana Lund, my good mission madrastra, buddy, and American sanity in a sea of Latins, as gone the way of the earth. Kicked the bucket, so to speak. In terms of her mission experience, she is dead and gone. And it sucks. There's just not really a more eloquent way to describe it. This seems to be one of my personality traits: I just can't let go of things, whether that includes bad feelings or good. And I think about it too much. Like, "yeah, it was great to have that time living together, blah blah blah, but it's never going to be the SAME again."
Nothing stays the same. What an original idea. But still, original or not doesn't change the potency of the feelings that accompany the concept. And mine is sadness. I could say the blow was softened by the amount of crap I inherited from her, but that wouldn't be true. Ok, a little true. I am now the proud owner of a rechargeable flashlight, a reversible Egyptian skirt, and various hand sanitizers from Bath and Body Works (cue angelic chorus). And that's just to name a few. I kid you very little when I say that a mission funeral reeks highly of the real thing. The dying missionary mentally makes a will and when the time comes, they literally give away most of the stuff they came with. Sheets, towels, clothes, whatever. It all goes. No one wants to have to worry about lugging three suitcases full of junk home with them. Although the amusing irony is that what is given away is always more or less more valuable then what these home-going missionaries brought with them initially. You end up with a lot of used agendas, interesting letters you received during the mish (insert not-so-subtle hint for all of you to write said letters), and interesting but cheap knick knacks. Though I have to say, I'm glad I'm learning the art of dying now and not later. Especially since I'll be training this transfer and the more I know now, the better. But we'll talk more about that later.
Anyway, the point being, Hermana Lund is gone and I'm bummed. We had some crazy cooking/contacting/living-life-in-general experiences together. And it made me how much I hate missing things. Which of course, brings me to the fact that I missed my mother's 50th birthday, my cousin Trevor's 18th birthday, and, oh, P.S., happy birthday today to my little love pizza Delaney because today she turns 15. What the what? I will also not be there for my brother's 21st birthday, when hopefully he more or less becomes somewhat of an adult, nor for the rebirth of the nation from whence I came, also known as the U.S. elections. To be honest, none of this really hit me until a few days ago because normally, I just don't think about it. I go on automatic robo pilot, and concentrate on what I'm doing in the moment. Except when my mind wanders and I think about what I'll be putting in my next blog entry or will write in a letter back home. Otherwise, I'm decently focused. But when I realized that I'd be missing so many interesting things in one year, I was just like, "uh... that kinda sucks." Then again, it's probably a good thing I haven't been over thinking this particular subject, because I'm sure I would have left the states kicking and screaming. It was hard enough realizing I'd have to give up Jack in the Box tacos. Add to that birthdays, elections, and the latest season of The Vampire Diaries, and well... we're just gonna let me go back into robot mode again.
And yes, to top it all off, it's transfers again, and yes, I am training. All I know is that her name is Hermana Bryant and that she's from Arizona. Oh, and that we'll both be staying here in Azua. As much as I thought I'd be staying in La Yuca, I had equally strong feelings that I'd be getting myself outs of here. But the unexpected twist is that there will now only be two hermanas working here instead of four, the very thing I was almost positive wasn't going to happen. But like I've said before, you can only learn to live life on the edge of expectancy, because you have no idea when, where, and with whom you're going to fall. And I really don't know what big guns upstairs is thinking by trusting me with a newborn missionary. I don't feel prepared! I go from being fake engaged to having a real/fake mission child. Who'd have thunk I'd have to go on a mission to meet with such a scandalous life? And then, to top it off, I get to be the step mom of my stepbrother, Elder Carlson, because I was be the oldest Hermana in our Zone, (yup, me and my whole 7.5 months), and me and my new companion will be the only hermanas in the zone. I will also apparently be inheriting a son (can you inherit children?) because another Elder in our zone is also training. Although I am the only hermana newly training this transfer. So, Elder Bagley (the other trainer-in-training) and I will be headed to the capital today around 3:00 p.m. my time via guagua or some sort of bus-like transportation. Wish me whatever is stronger than luck, because to err on the side of the cliche, I'm gonna need it.
Anyway, I'm gonna call it a day. To quote a recently and dearly departed friend, "give me a break." I mean, I am in mourning and all. Though this whole experience of watching someone else prepare me to go home naturally has made me think about when my turn comes. If it ever does. I remember Facebook chatting with a friend from the Washington Seminar back when I was still deciding about the whole mission thing. He just said, "oh... cool." And I was like, "well, that's an ambiguous and telling reaction," to which he responded, "no, it would be cool. The mission is just really hard." And I responded (only mentally), with, "well, I feel like I've mastered the hard by now, and it's never stopped me before. How much harder could it get?" I was so young and cute back then. If only I'd known. But to bring Hermana Lund back from the dead momentarily, I will leave you with this gem she told me once: "Well, I wouldn't CHOOSE it. But I wouldn't change it." Amen to that. And to this entry. Off I go to throw some ashes.
Solemnly,
Hermana Sweeney
Comments
Post a Comment