Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Home is where the heart is.

Home:

1. residence: the place where a person, family, or household lives
2. family group: a family or any other group that lives together
3. birthplace: the place where somebody was born or raised or feels that he or she belongs
 
I challenge these definitions.  Yes, these are the standard and stereotypical ones but there is a beautiful phrase which I feel best defies these trite and cold explanations,  "Home is where the heart is".
 
When I moved to Colorado Springs years ago, I never truly considered it my home.  Don't get me wrong, I loved the city and leaving Colorado behind only to return to the smoggy sprawl of Southern California after my divorce devastated me. 
 
No matter how hard I tried to make a go of it in the lovely city at the base of Pike's Peak, I could never call it my own.  It rang hollow and empty.  Perhaps that's why when I left it behind and drove over the San Bernardino mountains into Southern California, I was both sad and hopeful.  Where was my home?  Yes, I was born in one of the palm tree laden cities below, my family was interspersed throughout the area, and the house I grew up in was just a traffic jam away, but could I find a place that would make me truly happy?  A place where I could be myself and not hold anything back?  Where I could share my soul and not be judged or dismissed? Where I could whip off my bra, kick up my heels, and say the first thing that popped into my head, and this is the kicker - have someone actually interested in whatever that gibberish might be?  This was a tall order wish list.  
 
My proposed definition is still a noun but it's not a place; instead it's a person or a group of people whom you find comfort in.  My home is my family and friends.  It's whom I've learned to hang my heart with.  My home are my sisters and nieces whom I played a vicious game of dominoes with last Sunday night, it's my mother sitting across a kitchen table from me sharing a cup of coffee, my friends and sister screaming at a scary movie with me, one of my oldest high school friends knowing that the lives we've shared will soon come to end, a sweet guy texting me throughout the day and making me laugh when I need it the most, a group of ladies who share the same commonality of our behaviorally challenged children and whom I've have come to depend on for strength and encouragement, and finally and most definitely my husband - when I walk into his arms after a long absence, he personally delivers me my tall order wish list and smiles.  I've finally come home.
  
 
      

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