I finished Book Seven on Monday afternoon at about 3:00 p.m. I had taken the day off to recoup from my mission trip. (Nothing to do with wanting to read the book or anything like that
) A bittersweet ending. I loved the book, but I loathe that the series is now over.
I have always been one to relish the anticipation of a thing more than the thing itself. I am not sure why that is. Even as a child, at birthdays and Christmas, I never ripped into my presents. I preferred to take it slow, savoring each moment of wonder as I carefully removed the paper from the treasure inside. And once all the packages were exposed, I experienced a let down that is difficult to describe. Something about the "not knowing." Something about the mystery of "what could be..." The reality never measured up.
And so with Harry, the saga is complete. The questions have been answered, the problems solved, the loose ends neatly tied up. The anticipation is relieved, yet I still long for something more.
I suppose it's a matter of preferring the journey over the destination. And so I wonder, what's next...