The Meeting: An Introduction

I went to see you today. It's been a long time, hasn't it? It was just like how it used to be--it was easy. It was sort of like the time that Grandma bought you that little battery-operated dog for your fifth birthday. You know, the one that would shake, then flip backwards three times, and bark? Remember how you laughed? It was a child's laugh--pure, deep, spiritual. I haven't heard that in awhile.
I went to see you today--and you were there. Waiting. It's like you were expecting me. Can I tell you something? Can I tell you that I almost cried when I saw you? I felt whole again. Like the time when Mom and Dad sat between us at church. You took each of their hands and studied them. You loved dad's rough, dark hands--how large his knuckles were compared to mom's. Her hands were flawless--smooth, soft, petite. Her nails a brilliant pink. Together, they felt like a warm blanket. That was your religion. Wasn't it?
Now that I met with you today, I feel like I need to apologize. But, first can I say that it wasn't until our meeting that I realized I lost you? I mean, I really had no idea how far away I had gone, and how long I had stayed, and that I missed you and all that you are. I was wrong. But I just didn't know at the time that I didn't know what I thought I did.
I left you because I thought I knew what it meant to grow up. I'm sorry for the quick decisions, the betrayals, the neglect. I'm sorry for wanting things to be different and for putting Him and Her and It before you.
Let's go back to the places I remember but at one time forgot. Maybe if we visit these places together, I won't ever lose you again.