Where my heart is.

I've only felt "at home" maybe a total of 4 times in my life.  
At least four times that really stick with me as times of being "at home".

The thing is. 
Everywhere I've lived has felt like a half way.  
A place that I didn't belong, but I was at. 
Growing up, home was...where I got in trouble.  
Home was where people fought. 
Home was where secrets were kept. 
Home felt like a gilded prison.

When I got older and moved out on my own.  
The places I lived felt temporary. 
Transient. 
All of the warmth of a hotel room.

While I was married home felt like the place that I slept. 
A place where I hid. 
Like I was a place holder for someone else. 

That "at home" feeling.   
Like feeling I was where I was supposed to be. 
Where I was safe.
Where I was at peace.
That feeling has only been very, very fleeting in my life.
Everything else has been somewhere between prisoner and visitor. 

The first time I really recall feeling that way.  
The "I'm home" feeling. 
Was a bright sunny afternoon. 
The wind cool, but the sun warm. 
I was working in the yard with my partner at the time.  
We pulled weeds.
Planted flowers.
Hung shutters. 
It was...idyllic and comfortable.

The second time I remember feeling that way.
That at home feeling. 
That loved and cared for feeling. 
I was sick.  So terribly sick. 
I had been bed for days and I wasn't entirely certain I would be able to get out.  
A friend came to check on me.  
Brought orange juice, and medicine, and cold clean water. 
And Soup. 
I was only conscience for brief moments. 
They sat in the rocking chair by my bed in silence.  
They made sure I ate. 
Took the medicine.
And they were just, there.  
Their familiar breathing and shifting a comfort beyond measure. 
They left after I they made sure I was going to be okay and was sleeping comfortably.  

The third time I remember feeling at home was Thanksgiving. 
Modest.  
A feast funded by a students allowance and a librarians modest wages. 
A chicken instead of a turkey, and stuffing from a box, with potatoes and beans.  
and a pumpkin pie bought from the local grocery
A wood fire burning in an iron stove and the smell of lavender in the air. 
I remember thinking I would never feel happier than I did with Cat in my lap and my fingers twined with my partners. 
It felt safe.  
Like peace. 


The last time I felt at home...
Was curled up in in a to small tent as the rain poured down outside. 
Just comics and blankets turning the dreary day into heaven. 


As the days move on and the years pass
I think of moments like these and wonder. 
Will I ever find home?