This is not goodbye.

I was at dinner with Father Jim tonight, celebrating Jack's birthday, and we started talking, as we always do. We were talking about the fact that Jack and I are moving to Georgia. He mentioned all the wonderful, positive things about the move: Jack will have his father. I will have my parents and my old and very dear friends. I have employment lined up. I am starting school. My apartment is nicer and in a nicer neighborhood (and with no pet fee for Bella --or Crookshanks, if I decide to take him as well. We shall see.) We have more support there. There are more things to do at the church there. The larger city and better resources mean that the crisis dormitory can be opened sooner. There are a lot of perks, and he thinks I am making the right choice moving.

And then I started crying. Because I don't really WANT to move. For better or worse, this place has become my home. I love it here. Don't get me wrong, I hate most everything about this place -- mosquitoes that leave scars, blistering heat, crackhead neighbors, GATORS IN THE YARD, hurricanes, unemployment, very few friends, horrible schools, BLISTERING HEAT, blistering heat (and did I mention the blistering heat?), shady doctors. . .

But it's home, and I love it here.

Father Jim has a theory, and I think he's right. I have found something here that I have been searching for my whole life. I found my faith, and I found people who share it. And this community has been there through my pregnancy and my delivery. They were there when I brought Jack to church the first time last December. They were there for my chrismation in April. They were there for his baptism in May. On Sunday, they will be there for his first birthday, and they will all celebrate it as if we were part of their family, BECAUSE WE ARE.

As my sister and I pointed out in her blog the other day, I am a little odd. I have always been odd. I have always been on the outside looking in. I have never fit anywhere. Ever. Seriously. And then I showed up at the door of this small church for Pascha two years ago, two months pregnant and alone, and they welcomed me with open arms. And they never stopped.

When I told them I was pregnant and SINGLE, I really expected harsh judgment. But I got love and acceptance. I expected to be back on the outside, but they supported me, and they loved me, and then they loved my son. There have been times when I felt like I didn't fit in, but someone always unwittingly puts an end to those thoughts pretty quickly.

I love these people.

And then there's Jared. We met indirectly through a mutual friend (who was hundreds of miles away at the time!). His best friend was engaged to an old friend of mine. And when we realized this, we started talking. And then we started spending more and more time together -- so much so that he actually ended up losing a girlfriend over it! He got me through my pregnancy, and I helped get him through a rough patch in his life. Several months after my son was born, we started dating. We've talked about a future - marriage, children, and all that fun stuff. Georgia, though, is not in our future together.

I will miss Jared and Father Jim, and I will miss the connection I feel to the people at my church. And I will miss Miss Irene.

Miss Irene is this adorably sweet woman at church. She shares my last name, which was how we first bonded -- actually, her daughter and I have the SAME FULL NAME. Spelled the same way! Miss Irene is like everyone's grandmother, and she has seemed to be particularly fond of Jack. She is a wonderful woman. Just being around her makes me smile. I can't put my finger on just what it is about her that makes me love her like I do. I just do.

And as I got all teary, and after Father Jim blamed the food for it (ha!), he told me about this great little tradition that evidently exists in the Church - We don't say goodbye. Because this isn't goodbye.

And I think about all the near-goodbyes that I am dealing with right now, and knowing that I don't have to say them makes life a little easier.

Sure, I have been thinking about moving back for a while now, but the thing that made me act was the death of a very dear friend - a woman who was kind of like another mom to me, and very much like another grandmother to Jack. She leaves behind an autistic son, and there is nobody to care for him during the days while his father is at work. So I am moving back to do just that. I know she would have done the same for me.

It's just so hard to leave this place and all these crazy people. It's hard to pack my life into boxes and head back to the city I was raised in. It's strange to know that in two weeks I will be moving into a new and much better place and be so sad about it. I KNOW that this is the right choice for us. But why does doing the right thing have to feel like this? I know I am going back to my family, but I feel like I am leaving my family at the same time.

Plus, it will be really hard to break in a new Priest.