it was around nine pm when i laughed inwardly at the irony of the situation: a mournful/joyful coming-home, the dark, pouring rain, and a longing to be home, but where that might be was still undetermined.

my dad pulled us into the driveway of our new home. after the hugs from my mom who i hadn’t seen in over a month and the comforting of the younger brother who was scared of thunder, my dad, other brother, and i explored what was now ‘home.’

it was probably eleven pm by the time i got in my room, closed the door, and rummaged around for a pair of pajamas that i haven’t been repeatedly wearing-and-washing for the past month.

then i crawled into bed, worn out. a month of living in hotels with your brother and dad will do that to you. oh yeah, and also actually moving your life across the country.

the past few months i’d gotten in the habit of playing music to help me fall asleep, so i brought that into the first night in hickory, nc. placing the phone’s quiet music by my head so as not to disturb my brothers in the rooms across from me, i burrowed into my blankets, grateful to finally be done.

but ‘done’ does not happen just because you’ve made it to your final destination—there’s still healing that needs to happen.

that night, i couldn’t stop crying. it was easily one or two am by the time i had cried and prayed and wished all i could (for tonight) and fell asleep from exhaustion.

at one point, i was sick of lying in bed and moved around the room: leaning against the wall, curled on the floor, sitting at my desk, looking in the mirror, watching out the window, kneeling in prayer.

nothing felt comfortable. 

but nothing is comfortable in grief. 

at some point between eleven pm and two am, i think a part of me broke that will take longer to heal than i expect or want it to. but this is the journey of grief.

i was freezing and longing for a night of rest from the Father. i wanted Him to take away my burden, to take away my pain. essentially, i wanted to be numb—there had been too many emotions within the past six months. my mind and heart and soul and body were all exhausted.

i slept hard and slept in late.

in the morning, i heard birds chirping and the sun shone through my blinds. the rain was gone. a few hours of sleep hadn’t cured my heart’s ache, but it did show me:

joy comes in the mo(u)rning. 

i’m not sure how long this mourning will last and i’m not sure when the morning will come, but i’ve lived enough life to know that it will come. 

we’ll get there someday.