This weekend I have been writing about Beth's journey home. It's got me thinking about what home has come to mean to me over the years. My home, my roots, my heart will forever be on the porch swing on sixth street. That is where my grandparents live and it where my pilgrimage leads me when I yearn for "home."I am blessed to have a big obnoxious family who love me more than I deserve at times. I am completely and madly in love with them and all their craziness, in turn. No matter where I am, no matter what I am going through, I know that my room waits for me on the second floor. The alley looks exactly the same framed by the windows I have daydreamed out of since I was a little girl.
If I were to draw a parallel between Beth and myself, "home" is where we are most alike. Sharing that piece of myself has been an intimate and tender trip down memory lane. Beth gets my passion and allows me to write it into her life. When you read about her journey, you will understand how much that means to me. It makes me miss sixth street.
Now that I am a grown woman, my home consists of my husband and my sons. We have navigated our way through 5 states in 10 years. We were never in one place long so wherever we were together was "home."My favorite place in the world.
My husband of 14 years is leaving to spend a year working in Germany. Tomorrow evening he will leave our home behind to embark on a new chapter of his career. I have never been separated from him longer than 6 months since I was 19 years old. For the first time, home will feel empty.
I hope he gets homesick; we will be homesick for him everyday. He knows that wherever he goes, no matter where we are "home" will be waiting.