Typically I find beauty in stillness, empty rooms that allow for my wondering thoughts to fill them up, and embrace change with ease, as it means greater things are headed my way.
Not this time.
I’ve been dreading the end of June and frankly, the lack of furniture in our two bedroom town home serves as a not-so-subtle reminder that time waits for no one. No matter how deeply I dug my heels into the sand, time raced forward. I had to once again, pack up, say goodbye and figure out what was next.
I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Airports happen to be one of my least favorite places, for this very reason. Planes taking off remind me of all the times I’ve had to say goodbye and how empty I felt in someone’s absence.
Home isn’t a place, it isn’t a zip code or an address, it’s people. In the past year and a half, I’ve made my home within another being and two fuzzy little creatures with black wet noses. With them, I found purpose, peace, happiness and love.
Subsequently, home was my favorite place to be. I wished for my vacations to be shorter to get back home, time to go faster at work to get back home, nights out with my friends to not last too long to get back home, and whenever I was away I found myself thinking of home and everything that made it mine.
If you know me, it comes as no surprise who these beings are that make up home for me, but if you don’t, well:
My home is made up of many walls and levels, but my favorite room is the living room.
From somehow making two dogs and two humans fit on one sectional, to serving him a plate of food with pride as he replied, “Looks great babe”, to stealing kisses in between video games, to falling asleep in awkward positions and waking up with a foot in your face, to feeling that glimmer of joy as you hear the door unlocking and the dogs wagging their tails, as if they are proclaiming, “daddy’s home!”, to laying on his chest listening to his heart beat, to catching him staring at you and saying, “what?” only to find he was admiring you, to debating over which show to watch on Netflix, to making silly noises as he talks to his friends on Xbox live, to eating dinner, to having breakfast on Sunday morning.
The living room is where home gathered around.
But, like anything home isn’t perfect.
Sometimes home means slammed doors, walking past one another without speaking, one on the couch and one upstairs, asking, “Going out…again?”, wanting to be alone but near them all at the same time, coming home and being frustrated that the kitchen is still dirty, wondering where the hell the remote is, wanting to wake them up because you aren’t tired but they are, feeling lonely when they are gone and crowded when they are there.
Sometimes home made us answer tough questions.
Why did we do this? Why do you do this every time before I go out? Was this too soon? How will we transition to not being together? How will we make sure we don’t settle? Are you happy? Did you take out the trash? How come you aren’t listening to me? Do you love me? Why do you always forget? Are you mad at me? What do you want for dinner.. and don’t say you don’t care..
Many walls and levels, but my favorite part was you.
You the unpredictable, you the stable, you my confidant, you my motivator, you my friend, you my headache, you my blanket hog, you my “forgets to take off his shoes”, you my strength, you my dance partner, you my pillow of choice, you my favorite smile, you my person, you my hardest goodbye..
I will never be prepared to say goodbye. Home isn’t home without you. Home and it’s walls and levels are barren with our your laugh echoing through the halls to give it life.
Home isn’t a place, it isn’t a zip code or an address, it’s people.
Thanks for being my home.