Going Home

I wrote this one afternoon while the children were napping. Leaving my hometown is always hard everytime I visit and tears were present again as I pulled away from my parent's home. But as you will see from this post, places just become places when the people you love are not there.

I was struck this visit to my hometown with a good bit of nostalgia. Maybe it was the drive out into the country revisiting some of the lone roads I would venture down - flying with the radio blaring, or the overwhelming beauty of acres and acres of corn and wheat growing on the farms around. Maybe it was just the house, the church, the places that were my life for so long. No matter what it was, this trip had me remembering.

We always love to drive down the roads - which literally can take about twenty minutes - of our friends, places we would frequent, to see what has changed. I always have to go to McRae Street to view the house where I grew up, drive by the church - First Pres - where I was also married, drive down Main, Pensacola and Kimberly.

The wonderful thing about a small town is not much does change, so the memories can linger on.

Sadly, though, every time I go back since my parents have left it feels less and less like home. Oh, I LOVE seeing the people that have been my parents friends and it is always comforting to enter the doors of my old church, walk into David's Catfish and stuff myself to the gills with popcorn shrimp, but it just isn't the same.

I miss my home, but I am understanding more and more as I get older that home is not necessarily a place, it is about the people that make a place home. Without my parents being there, it really changes my perspective of what home is. And I also realize that maybe it is just time to start viewing my life, my hubby, and my children as the place that ultimately is and will be home.