I am in Houston now. I have been to one home and come back to another. Oregon used to be my home and remains so regardless of where I actually live. Houston, my current location, is also home, but in a different way than Oregon. Oregon holds all my yesterdays, all my memories. Houston holds my todays and tomorrows, my future memories.
This past week has been one of pure exhaustion. I have felt every emotion it is possible to feel in such a short time: fear, anxiety, anger, guilt. I have laughed and cried, connected and let go. I have also felt tired. Bone tired. The sort of weariness one can only feel when one has been pushed to the limit and been expected to continue on. It is the kind of tired that only days of rest on a sunny beach could cure.
Being in Oregon and dealing with the crisis of my mother's health made me confront issues I thought were long buried. It's interesting how going home can bring a myriad of feelings to the surface. It made me confront things I needed to confront and it made me see that things I had buried needed to stay that way. It also showed me how far I've come since I left. That, perhaps, is the best thing about going home. I've changed in ways I can't explain, but in ways that make me know that my past choices were the right choices.
Going home, although a difficult experience because of the reason I went, was an eye-opener. I connected with a relative that I hadn't had the chance to really talk with before. She showed me that a pocket of sanity may exist in my family after all. I also said some things that needed to be said to my mother. And I said nothing to my brother, whom I had let go of sometime back. Sometimes saying nothing says everything. It's a soul soothing thing to feel the indifference that comes with letting go of negative emotions or negative people and to truly wish them the happiness in life that everyone deserves.
You can go home again. Home doesn't change. But you do.