My poor pastor. Today he got the full effect of overly-emotional, middle-aged women.
You see, we moved most of our worldly possessions yesterday to the new house. The new city. We made the hour drive this morning for one last Mass at our parish of 14 years.
Just after Mass, I went up to say goodbye to friends in the choir. I never got the "goodbye" out. I was blubbering too hard.
As I went downstairs for Donut Hour, I figured that I got all the tears out and I'd be a sensible person the rest of the morning. Then it happened. My pastor walked up and just as I was about to say, "I'm going to miss you and your wonderful homilies," I started sobbing. Again. He put his arms around me, trying to comfort me. Then, my friend Monie came up and started sobbing too! We were a mess.
The funny thing was that Father had no idea what was going on! He'd forgotten this was our last week. He just comforted away, until Monie and I were sane enough again to explain our tears.
He's promised to come to the new house for a House Blessing Party and we'll invite all our friends from church. I should have all my tears done by then.