My house is so quiet. The wind rustles through the trees in the backyard, a sound I’ve always loved, and today… it only exacerbates my aching heart. The birds chirp happily in their cage in the sunroom, and the golden fall light pools on the floor under the window- and it makes the unnatural silence echo through my raw heart.

My kids are in California, with my family. My house is big and empty. There are whispers of memory everywhere I turn, but they are shades, transparencies, veiled and yellow like an old fading photograph curling in the sun.

No matter how much you love your home and think it’s where your heart is, it’s not. Your home is an empty shell, a vacant lot, without those you love lighting it’s walls. The old adage got it wrong.

Your home is in your heart- not the other way around.

9 thoughts on “Home

  1. I’ve often thought that. When DH asked if it would bother me to leave my home (Canada) to live in New Zealand, I answered that home wasn’t so much a place as much as it’s wherever he is.

  2. I have learned from all the moves my DH and I have done in our marriage (we move every 2 years or so, overseas none the less) that home is wherever we are at, at that moment. It is not a place, it is the people who make it such.

    I cannot begin to understand what you are going through, but know thoughts and prayers are being sent your direction and I hope you find peace. May you have peace in whatever journey you are on.

  3. Beautiful and so true…and makes me doubly sad because my home is empty literally and metaphorically…

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