When most of us think of our homes, we think of the many walls sheltering us for safety. Or, we imagine the yard where we played as children. For me, it’s a bit of both.
As a child I couldn’t wait to leave my parent’s home. The more I look back, I realize how fortunate I was to have their wonderful home, my home, to grow with nurturing and love. Sure, we didn’t see eye to eye on everything, but their love was unconditional.
It seems cliche to say the older I get, the more I realize how fortunate I was, but it is the truth. Our family was centered in love, we never moved and I never had to worry about being alone in our home. There were six children as playmates and if my siblings were busy, our cousins lived just down the road.
Moving out of the family home was a huge transition for me. Since that day, I have moved a total of 8 times, I believe, I have lost count. All of this moving and transition has made me wonder about the sense of home in my life.
With all this movement and change, there is one thing I have learned. Home is not always a specific place, sometimes it’s just being with the ones we love. Home is being with my husband and children. Every place we have lived has felt like home, because they have been there with me.
We may not have purchased our forever home. We may not stay forever in the home we purchase, but I do know wherever my boys are, my home is with me. Forever.