I wrote this last year, around the time of our first Thanksgiving since Mom passed. It occurs to me that this year is the first Thanksgiving since the house I used to live in was sold to someone else, someone I don't know, someone I've never met. That's okay; we hadn't celebrated a Thanksgiving at that house in many, many years. The sense of loss is there, sure, but its threat is empty. We remember. We look back with love. We survive, as those who love us would want us to.
But this is also our first Thanksgiving since my daughter's wedding in October. Meghan and Austin will join us for dinner, and Austin's Dad will be here, too. There can be happiness in that moment. We can't reclaim the past. But there is so much to be savored in the present, and still so much to hope for the future.
Home.
Memories survive, and memories sustain. Addresses can change. Home is forever.
Wherever home may be.
We better get home.
Our definitions of "home" may vary. For now, think of home as a refuge of comfort and companionship, a shelter of warmth and camaraderie, a fortress for family and friends. A place of love.
We know that homes aren't always like that. For some, the reality of home, the reality of family, does not match the idyllic dream of what we want. And for some, it's much worse than that. Perhaps much, much worse. I know I'm fortunate to be able to claim a happier sense of home.
But we wish you the home you wish for yourself. We are friends. We are family. We are not alone.
It won't be easy. Hell, it might be impossible. Empty place settings at the dinner table remind us of what's lost. The home we wish for may be beyond our mortal ability to hold.
But it's what we wish.
Welcome home.
No comments:
Post a Comment