Home is a funny thing.

For me, as a child, there was first a place, a set of people: they were home. And home meant unbreakable, unshakeable, unwavering.

And then it was gone. Broken, shaken, wavered.

Later, as a teenager, I had it again for a while. Our home was ours. My room was my own, with a balcony and wallpaper that I chose myself from one of those heavyweight wallpaper swatch books that are so full of potential and possibility. I settled on peach roses bordered by stripes, apparently influenced heavily on a subconscious level by my grandmother.

And then came college and eventually, when I came back “home,” it wasn’t there. My parents moved to a new house where I had no connection and I was on the search to find my own adult space.

As a young adult, I held a vision of what home should be. I immediately set out to fill that hunger and settled on the first place that felt right. I carved out that space. I painted the walls. I organized shelves. I gave birth to my first child there.

But that place slowly showed itself. It was no longer home.

I then gave up. I floundered and bounced. I refused to commit. I couldn’t be pinned down.

But that hunger remained.

I wouldn’t talk about it, but there was a secret pull inside of me. That pull felt similar to that of my children’s spirits before they were born. It was at once simple and complicated. It was out there but I wasn’t sure when it would come and how it would happen.

Suddenly (although it had been years in the making), home showed itself. I knew the second I saw it that it would be ours. Though I was told otherwise and though I had to work time and again to surrender to the process, I rollercoastered through moments of peace and even more moments of labor and turmoil. The process was long and uncertain – every moment a precipice, but we were supported along the way by “home buying doulas-” parents, friends, agents. To the last moment, we were unsure; sick with worry – and yet, on the other hand, so very, very sure.

And finally, it was done. Or had just begun. And not a day has gone by that I have not been overwhelmed with gratitude.

We were home. I was home. I AM home.


2 thoughts on “Riverside

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