I love my home.

A distant mountain with a snowy peak is flanked by green mountains on either side.  A perfectly still lake acts as a mirror to the landscape and sky.  This is my Home.
Photo by Kevin Bidwell from Pexels

Home, for me, is more than a place. It’s even more than the people who fill it. Home eludes description.

Not every place I have lived has been Home. Some have been mere dwellings– filled with our possessions, filled with the people I love. I organized the possessions, I did all the necessaries, and I loved the people in those spaces. Those places were where we slept, ate, worked, laughed, fought, and cried. But they weren’t Home. Whenever we lived in one of those spaces, I had a visceral, constant ache for Home. It was subtle but it was ever present.

That feeling wasn’t unlike the feeling I had as a teenager, wondering who I would marry someday. Hoping I would meet him soon (and not scare him away). I always knew he was out there, somewhere, and that certainty kept me from settling for less than. Well, whenever we lived in mere dwellings, that’s the same sensation I had. Home was out there, somewhere. That ache that said, “Don’t settle for this.”

We’ve been married almost 24 years. We’ve lived in ten places. Only three of those ten places have been Home. When I think of the two Homes that have been left to our history, it is hard not to cry. It’s not unlike thinking of a loved one who has lived a good life and passed peacefully away. You know that your time with them is done, and that it was Good. Yet, you wish you could go back are re-live some of it, at least a little. You close your eyes and re-play the tape, in your mind.

Thankfully, where we live now is Absolute Home. We discovered it in 2013 and I cried the first time we came up the drive. We’re still here and, God willing, we’ll never leave.

Tomorrow morning I’m leaving it. I’m leaving Home. I’m leaving my husband, four of my children, my pets, my flowers, my garden, my messes, my routines, my favorite spots. I’m leaving dear friends. I’m leaving my early morning walks to the pond with my dogs. I’m leaving the sound of the trains and the crickets. I’m leaving the rustic nature of the most beautiful place on earth. It’s hard not to break down.

It’s entirely possible that the place we will stay for the next two months will be a Home. I picked it based on an inner resonance I had with the photos. I’m hoping that when we settle in, after the nervousness wears off, we’ll bond with it. Of course, that will mean a little pang when we leave. But the pang of parting will be worth it, to have a Home waiting for us at the end of what may be very exhausting days.

If it turns out that we just have a place to stay, that will be okay, too. It will keep us focused on the goal–returning Home with my teen who will be hopeful for his own future, ready with skills to meet each day.

Tomorrow is the day! The journey is starting.

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