home

I used to not think much of home. I wouldn’t really think about it. It was the place I dwelled at. That was about it. Now, as I’m thousands of miles away and in another’s home, I’m conscious of what home meant to me. I’m blessed enough to have two homes, one of them I always treated with more sentimentality than the other. Now, I think of both, and somehow my heart aches for the familiarity of that big white house on the corner. I ache to walk on the grass, by now being filled with the leaves marking autumn. I dream of walking up the concrete steps and opening the door with a loud creak and smelling whatever is cooking in the kitchen. I want to hear my mom shout “hello” and my dad to turn his head over his shoulder while sitting in his chair. I want to walk into the dining room and see Eloise drawing a new masterpiece. I want to go in and hug my mom and open the fridge and see all the leftovers yet to be eaten. I want to sit in the red chair in the corner and talk to my mom about our day. I want to tell her about the weird dream that I had and her to tell me something that happened at the office. I want to be able to plop on the couch and watch the Travel Channel with my dad, discussing how good the food looks, and how we should definitely try to find the recipe for that. I want to sit in front of the fireplace and scroll on my phone, feel the sun coming through the windows, my face getting more and more warm by the minute. I want to be able to go into my brothers room and sit on the bed while they play video games. Not even exchanging much words except what’s happening in their relationships and the newest antics that their friends are up to. I want to plop on my bed and just lay there for hours on end, drifting in and out of sleep only to be woken up by a little laugh from Nick. As he states that I was awake 15 minutes ago and he doesn't understand how I can sleep so much. I want to be held and hugged and kissed and told that it’s alright. I want family dinners where my mom forces us play table topic cards. I want hot fudge sundaes and petty arguments with my brothers. I want to sit and cuddle with Nick as Eloise comes in and bugs us. I want to talk about my day, about how I did nothing special, but how happy I am that I’m home right now. I want the familiar smells of autumn in Valpo, I want to hear the crunch of leaves, and to see the usual people as we stroll downtown. I want my brothers yelling random noises interrupted by the screech of Joshua every so often. I want to see Eloise trying to race John, and realizing that John is too competitive to let an 8 year old win. I want Joseph looking at us in bewilderment and slight judgement, but knowing that he loves it all the same. I want my parents strolling behind us, because my mom had to fluff the cushions one last time before we left. I want Nanny and Papa walking with us, Papa cheering Eloise on and Nanny urging her not to go to fast in case she falls. I want home. I don’t feel home, in this new place. I want to feel the comfort that my home brings me, the belonging I took for granted. I want to look outside and see my neighbors that I’m so used to. I want to text my friends and know that they’re just a little bit away. I want to be able to go to Nick’s house and see his parents around the kitchen island. I want to go outside at night and see the stars and the moon and breathe the fresh air and know that I am home. I want home.