There's No Place Like Home

We added a few days to the long weekend and headed south for a vacation.  We attended a Valedictorian niece’s graduation, visited my husband’s grandma in a nursing home, celebrated our son’s first birthday, played games with my sisters, and watched fourteen cousins of varying ages interact.  It was wonderful!

But when we passed Edmonton on our way home, I got very excited.  The anticipation of getting home was greater than the anticipation of going away.  I couldn’t wait for my own bed, my own bath, my own kitchen, my own closet, my own computer…

Vacations are fun, but there’s no place like home.

The place we call home can change many times during our lives.  When I left home at the age of 19 and moved to Calgary, I still considered my parents’ home in BC to be my true home.  “I’m going home for Christmas” I would say.  I’m not sure when I stopped thinking of my parents’ home as my home; I think somewhere around the time I got married and started my own family.

I sometimes miss the acreage where I grew up, but that’s what memories and photographs are for. 

As I’ve moved from city to city, I’ve learned that home isn’t so much the location or the structure, but what’s inside.  We fill our homes with the people and things that we love, that make us comfortable, that make us happy.  It doesn’t matter if it’s an apartment, a mobile, a mansion, or a tent.

I’m thankful my parents (who are both 70 this year) realize this.  They took their most precious possessions and favourite furniture and moved into a seniors’ lodge.  They’re downsizing, reducing their luggage, understanding the vacation will end someday and they might as well be prepared for that inevitable, joyous move Home.