Home - Day 12

    Oh my goodness. I'm having a major problem with writer's block tonight. I'm drawing a blank from my brain and the 15 minutes tick away.

    The Grammy's are on television. Paul McCartney is singing about getting back home. This is kind of ironic because Phil and I were visiting our friends Jack and Julie tonight. We got to talking about my childhood home in the Blue Ridge Mountains. No matter how old I get, I still consider that place to be home to me. I guess that home can mean a lot of things. Anywhere I'm with my husband is home to me. Of course, having my children be a part of my life is also an element of home for me too.

    Home might also be that place in my mind where I can go to at anytime and in anyplace. I can go there and walk around. I can mull things over as I sit on my big, cozy couch. I can have the entire decor just as I want it. The filmy, white curtains of my mind, blow in the breeze, letting the fresh air clear my thoughts.

    When my Dad grew old, he began to talk of going home. His house was within walking distance of where he stayed with my brother. He could have gone back to the house where he lived for more than 50 years, at any time. It was the house where he and my mother made their home together and grew their family. Yet, at the end of his life, this was not his home. And he began to talk to his parents, two people who have gone to heaven decades ago. It was an unspoken truth, my dad wanted his home in Heaven.