"If home is really where the heart is...
Then home must be a place we all can share,
For even with our differences, our hearts are much the same
Where love is we come together there."
Two years ago my parents moved from the town where I did most of my growing up. Though this is a house where I've never lived, it still has the essence of "home". The walls hold paintings that decorated my childhood, and every corner contains a cozy familiarity: the reminiscent ticking of the clock on the wall, photographs of family, knitting in the basket, books on the table. And in the midst of it all, those I love.
I sat on the front porch, listening to the stillness. While much was going on around me, I took time to think and remember, hope and dream, count my blessings.
It was a difficult time for my sister-in-law, my brother and their children. The circumstances for their being there never escaped me and yet, there was something healing about our being together, something special about being "home".
Though miles scatter us in different directions, our hearts remain close. We are children, parents, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins. We reach out to catch one another when things hurt us, and help find the light when it grows dark. We celebrate the joys, and triumph in one another's grandest moments. We are family....we are friends.
The time together is never long enough. My brother's family left all too soon; their presence here almost like a dream. If I could just take a picture of time and make it stand still so that we could say and experience it all...
But time moves on...and we move ahead. I know that I will carry this weekend with me for awhile, reflecting on the moments shared and that place in our hearts where we are always "home".