**I wrote this a year ago – and never published it. Now that my husband’s remote year – apart from us has turned into two… I’m sharing – because – Dear God, we’ve still one more year… “Look straight” – that’s all I have to do… I need this reminder.
So much is going through my mind these days. Half the time I’m secretly freaking out inside, while the other half of me is happy to be “home” in Miami – though with out my husband here it doesn’t feel quite right. This time coming home – though I know it to be temporary – a year in the grand scheme of things really isn’t that long – but it feels weird. I’m sure it has to do with how quickly it all happened – maybe I’m still a bit dazed – and my mind is still working this out. It’s not the first time, I’ve come home – when duty has called him away. The big difference of course is now our boys are a part of this – and it’s so important they feel like this is their home. I think they need that, a good strong tree, with roots that grow deep. All their life they’ve had wings – and though they’re temporarily grounded while their dad is doing his “aiming high” gig, solo. His home now is completely strange and unlike anything he’s ever experienced.
Where as mine – is familiar – in so many ways and altogether foreign too.
Home. It doesn’t mean the same thing it once did.
This time around for me coming home feels much like visiting your old neighborhood where you grew up- and discovering everyone’s moved away. The tire swing you used to swing from, feet dangling with your eyes shut flying into the sun, always brought you back home. You realize that was – a part of what made your house feel like home. It’s where later as a teen you’d sometimes come, feeling melancholy and angsty – Hole or Nirvana blasting from your Discman – in that teenaged in-between place, hands held tight to the rope, excited for what lay ahead – the places you’d fly when their was no ropes to tether you.
Now back in on your old street, new people living in your house, all that remains is the ghost of that swing. The places you once called home – still are – but they’re not. The ropes are gone, you realize and though you’re not a complete stranger – the opportunity to discover this place – my new-old home, with new eyes – is something I want to look forward too. For so long the thought of home was like a glossy magazine picture, and truth be told it feels a lot less glossy than I remembered.
That’s the thing with memory – rose colored glasses and all.
I’ll find them, those shades and put them on and go out and explore this, my new old home. Rediscover the new places I love, and seek out my old haunts to see if they still hold the same magic and mystery. Except, I’ll get to do this with my boys. Share stories of my child hood with them. They’ll – for the first time in their lives will be surrounded by family–they have no idea how big their extended family is. I’ll be their tree, and their swing – the ropes they can hang on to, should they need me, because unlike my swing, which broke loose from a tree, my roots can walk – and so – as Any Rand so aptly said, we’ll “look straight” and walk into this homecoming adventure – which I’m sure will be awesome and terrible in varying degrees.