Sometimes I’m not sure where home really is.
I moved here 17 years ago, in the midst of a terrible, confusing, dark time in my life. The only light was my Bear – he held the broken pieces of me safe and helped me to put them back together. And I built a life here.
But there are times. I go back “home” every year because I have family, and memories, and history there. It isn’t home anymore. It’s the place I used to live, and the place I still love, but not the place I’ll ever call home again.
I leave some tears behind each year, mostly at the cemetery, because I don’t think you ever stop missing your mom and dad, no matter how many years they’ve been gone.
I cry when I get home because this is where I know I belong.
And then the days become routine and I feel like maybe I don’t. I’m a stranger still, in a strange land.
And the weeks roll around, and it’s time for diamonds and dinner with four of the most beautiful, wonderful, people, in this crazy world. For a few hours, we eat and talk and laugh and do silly things and tease each other (please, don’t let the food be dry!) and then…………. I go home.
I am blessed to have two families. One by blood – where I grew up. One by choice – where I live now. My heart is home and I am so grateful for the joy that just bubbles up from a night of food, talk, laughter and love.