last week i sent this little note into a fellow blogger looking for some guest posters. she provided the topic and this is what came out. she ultimately decided to go in a different direction so i thought i'd post it here.
sure, in the physical sense of the word, home is our three-bedroom house in our cookie-cutter neighborhood. it's got a dining room table, a couple new couches, two televisions, a pantry (sometimes) filled with food, drapes on the windows and linens on the beds. and yet, home is so much more than that.
i used to think that home is just a place where i keep all of my belongings. and it is. i keep all of my most special possessions there: my son's baby book, my wedding rings that no longer fit, all of the letters my husband wrote me when we were dating, boxes upon boxes of pictures, a shirt that used to belong to my older brother before he passed, and more things i'm sure i'm forgetting. but really, does that mean home to me? do i still think of home as just a place?
i think home, to me now, is a feeling: a feeling of comfort, safety and togetherness. a place where i can be myself. a place where my son can be a goofball, just like his daddy. a place that shelters me from weather, and when i'm feeling particularly hermit-like, a place that shelters me from people. yes, i guess home is a place but not just a place. i can be anywhere and feel home, so long as i've got my husband, son and pup right there with me (and my daughter, but since she isn't born yet she's always with me). if i no longer had those special possessions, or the place where i slept at night wasn't quite as nice as what i have now, i don't think i wouldn't feel home. my family is home. and there's no where else i'd rather be.