Where Is Home?

Old cabin
Our cabin in the 1940's -- before Richardsons

Perhaps it’s because of my dad’s decline into Alzheimer’s, but my return to the family cabin is especially powerful this year. It is like all the memories Dad has forgotten were waiting at the threshold of the cabin for someone to enter.

I’ve been coming here since I was a little girl. Today as I came through the door, I breathed in the familiar smells of this place and felt the presence of loved ones who are no longer here — grandparents, great aunts and uncles, my mom.

A movie played in my head — I heard the sound of Mom’s laughter and saw her smile; I felt the pokes of nails I was sorting to help Grandpa Tom with his construction project; I saw myself, early in the morning, running through the freezing cabin to reach the warmth of the kitchen and Dad’s blueberry pancakes.

I am home.
Not the home where I live all year round …
But a place I feel most grounded,
Most connected, most spiritually myself.
A lifetime of my memories
Sits on these shelves,
Vibrates in this air,
Roams around these rooms.
In this place
I am … truly … home.

Reflection:
Where is home for you?