August of 2015 is when my marriage fell apart. If we’re being honest, it had stumbled long before that...but that’s when I officially ceased (among many other things) to own the home I lived in. Or more accurately, I ceased to live in the home I own.
So began the chapter of my life which I shall call “Nomad”. (Well, no. I don’t really like that title so I change my mind.) So began the chapter of my life which has yet to be named. It is the time that started in my late 30’s and continues to this day, in which I experience different homes. Like Goldilocks trying out the beds or the porridge.
At first, I made a home for myself and my three beauty kiddos at my Grandmother’s farm house where she and my Grandpa once lived, loved and laughed with their own clan. It was close to family and if I resigned myself to a life of size-able commute, I would be able to keep those kiddos in the same school...the one they’ve attended all their lives. By the good graces of our amazing family, we made that house our home for almost three years. Mine full-time, their's part-time. There were animals and bike rides and family dinners and amazing sunsets and acres of freedom. We were so blessed.
There were animals and bike rides and family dinners and amazing sunsets and acres of freedom. We were so blessed.
Then came the duplex in town. A hop, skip and jump from school. A little smaller than we were used to and I don’t know that we’ll ever become accustomed to dwelling in the not so wide open spaces, but here we are. We made the adjustments and found the silver lining and I’m happy to say I even see little tiny roots sprouting. There are bike rides and family dinners and birthday gifts and beautiful skies and easier commutes. Again we are blessed.
This has been a journey that I could have never predicted and it still surprises me regularly. At nearly every point, I have wondered about the future. Sometimes I’m good at letting it go. Here you are, God...do what you will. Sometimes I struggle a wee bit with wanting to control the outcome more than I’m allowed.
Sometimes I’m good at letting it go. Sometimes I struggle a wee bit with wanting to control the outcome...
At many points I have wondered about the H word. Home. I don’t exactly know where that is for me. The house that I still own a part of is not where I live. The house that I live in is not where I see myself growing old and grey. So kids, that brings me to a thought that sometimes troubles me late at night. When you grow up and move out to face the world for the first time, where will home be in your mind? Where is that place that you will come back to when you need a soft landing? When you tell your university pals that you’re going home for the weekend, where will that be?
As I tend to do, I contemplated this far too much in the wee hours of the morning. Against every bit of advice from the sleep experts, and even against my own habitual response to insomnia...I picked up my phone. I asked Google something very random like “where is home” and the answer blew me away. I saw a neat little stylized quote that said “Home is Wherever Mom is”. Well, I’ll be darned. And now I'm crying. It's so hard to sleep when your nose is stuffy.
I asked Google something very random...and the answer blew me away.
And so my beauty kiddos...I hope and pray when you fly out of this little nest that we’ve created together...you will sometimes want to come home. For a visit, for a stay, for a rest. I hope and pray that home will be wherever I am. Wherever I have found a place to put out the planter box that you all made me that one Mother’s Day. Wherever I have a porch light that I can switch on at night when you’re not home yet. Wherever I am standing in my bare feet with homemade pizza in the oven. Wherever my door and my heart are open to you...I hope that’ll be home.
Yes, you can bring your laundry.
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