Going home.
I was once told you can never go home. You can never go back from whence you began. Early next year I will be returning to that which has haunted me since the day I left. But it is not home.
It's just the place that I report to others as home, when in fact, it's just the general area where I grew up. It has nothing of that which a home has. Any more.
Children. Parents. Christmas mornings waking with the family.
Stolen from me early in my life, I attempted to regather the pieces, but I didn't know how, I couldn't put it back together again. (A phrase borrowed from a First Fan.) I lost it a second time, and after that, I did the best I could.
I have found myself recently less at peace with what has happened and more at peace that it happened. I'm accountable for the wear and tear, and some of the breakages. But not the theft of the pieces.
