Of Coming to an End

You know when you're coming to the end of a good book and you're anxious to see how the story finishes but yet you don't want the book to end?

You can feel the remaining pages getting fewer and fewer beneath your fingers, and with every page-turn you know you're getting a little closer to the end of a story you can never fully experience again in exactly the same way? 

On April 23rd I will begin an 18 month mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Pocatello Idaho. I couldn't be more excited; it couldn't be more perfect for me.

Yesterday marked two months until I leave.

Which sounds like a lot,

but is actually only 8 weeks.

58 days. (Yikes!)

The only time I get sad about leaving 

is when I start to think about not coming back to where I am now.

Because when I leave, the book that I'm currently writing will end.

The next book will be "Operation Potato Fields."

But the book after that is so unknown. 

The only thing I do know, is it won't be the same setting as the current book. 

A new job for Dad, a new house for the family, a new state perhaps? Who knows. 

And so I know the last pages of this book, are really the last of this experience.

I won't come back to the same hall I slide down every time I'm running to my room in socks.

I won't come back to the same patio where I can be found any day the sun is shining.

I won't come back to the same roof outside my window that I used to climb on to escape for a minute.

And I know that it will be ok, that it's for a reason, 

and everything will work out the way it's supposed to. 

But for now, excuse me if I get teary eyed every time I look around my bedroom, 

or out my window, or while driving around the area (that one is an actual safety problem). 

Because every time I do, I know it's one of the last.

I've only got a few more pages left to turn before this story finishes. 

And I'm excited for the next story, but I'm not ready for this one to end.  

Not yet.  

Give me 58 more days.