Day 24: Home

No matter where I've lived or who I've lived with, home has always been a little yellow house on a hill, pushed into the woods. Whether in Oregon or Boston, in a 3 bedroom house or studio apartment, home remains the place of my childhood- 20 acres Upstate. Home has always been a place with trails my feet remember and stories that are written across the gravel drive and carved into the maples. Now I'm starting to think that maybe Home is not this place, but rather the gathering of people who love each other. Maybe home can be anywhere. Maybe home can be a bundle of well-read letters or an hour-long video chat. Maybe home can be a hospital room or a creaky bench in an old forgotten church. The grip of a grandfather's hand or the unabashed kiss of a little one. Maybe home is knowing that there's someone, somewhere who is watching for your headlights to turn up the drive. Someone who is straining to hear the slam of your car door.

I am blessed to have had love around me all the days I can remember. And I love my husband because he has literally made my family his own. There's no competition for affection. There's no guilt about who we see when and for how long. He says my family are his kind of people, and I don't know exactly what that means, but I think it has something to do with a woodstove and a barn and a quiet kind of living. My family is my core and by joining my family, he has become a part of my center.

Tomorrow we'll drive the 6 hours home. I don't know what time we'll get there, but I do know that my dad will be waiting by the door and my mom will be inside, tidying an already emaculate house. No matter how tired they are, or how early they have to get up the next day, they will be waiting. Because when you love someone, you wait for them to come home. No matter what road they take, or how long they take to get there.