No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny without leaving some mark on it forever."
. . . Francois Mauriac
I cannot, no...I take that back. I will not say good bye to you, for to me, the word ‘goodbye’ has always had such a harsh and final sound to it. Instead, I will say to you, "Vaya con Dios."
Vaya con Dios my friend, and know that the memories, the laughter, and the adventures, will be with us always, and your spirit will forever echo in our hearts.
You can’t go home again. Or can you?
In my lifetime, I’ve heard this saying over and over again. I was never quite sure what people meant by this because I’ve moved away from Nebraska twice and both times, I’ve ‘come home’. Both times, the minute my feet hit that Nebraska earth and I smelled that Nebraska air, I felt calm and settled. At peace in some way. During my high school years, I moved from Oklahoma (where I was born and raised) to Wichita, Kansas; to Fort Worth, Texas then back to Wichita, Kansas and then finally to Omaha. I have to say that while living in Wichita was okay, it wasn’t home and Texas never felt like home.
I’m not quite sure that I’ve always believed that a person can be homesick. KJ and I moved to Michigan when the kids were small; Lynsay wasn’t even in school yet. We lived there for 2 years and while I missed Nebraska, I wasn’t homesick. We loved living there. We made some great friends and really, it was some of the best years of our lives. I was involved in the kids school; volunteered one morning a week in Lynsay’s kindergarten class, accompanied both of the kids classes on field trips, volunteered at Field Day, etc. I even had a part time job at a Hallmark store.
In the two and a half years that we lived in California, I never quite felt like I belonged, it never felt like ‘home’ to me. I didn’t drive a car that cost more than a years salary. I didn’t wear Jimmy Choo shoes or carry a Louis Vuitton bag. I didn’t have my nails done every week. And I certainly didn’t have diamonds dripping off every finger. When I went to get my eyes checked in February, the optomitrist asked me how I liked living in California. I told him that I loved the weather, loved being able to drive to the beach and loved taking adventure trips with my husband. I then said that I also felt that the people in California were very materialistic. He nodded and said, “Yes, here, you are what you drive.” I chuckled and said, “I drive a 2002 Hyundai Santa Fe, I wonder what that makes me.”
Living in California, I discovered the true meaning of the word ‘homesick’. Don’t get me wrong; California is beautiful and we have a beautiful house there that I turned into a warm and welcoming home. I loved the fact that in a few hours time, we could be anywhere - the beach, LA, San Diego. We had wonderful adventures while we were living there. But something was missing: My kids. My family. My friends. There were days where I missed my kids so much, my heart literally ached. It made me think time and again how my mom must have felt to have me living so far away. No matter how old you get, you’re always your mothers children and when you don’t live close to your children, it brings an ache to your heart like no other.
I’ve been home for a little over 3 months now. In the short time that I’ve been home, I’ve lost my mom and have been grieving the loss of her in my own way. But I’ve also been able to see my kids on a regular basis, reconnect with my friends, meeting them for coffee, lunch, dinner or the movies, and I’m now back to being closer in proximity to my sister.
I’ve heard the saying that ‘Home is where your mom is” and while my mom was alive, I truly believed that. Going home to my mom brought a lightness to my heart, a calmness to my soul. Every time I drove to Oklahoma City, once I hit the state line, it seemed as if I couldn’t get home to my mom fast enough. Oklahoma may be the land of my birth but Nebraska? Nebraska is where I grew up.
These days I believe that ‘home is where your heart is’. My heart has always been in Nebraska. My cup runneth over with blissful happiness at being back home with my children.
When someone tells you that you ‘can’t go home again’, trust me when I say, “yes, yes you can.”
