Sometimes at night my mind flies back to the day we left home. It is as if it was yesterday, and at the same time as if I am watching a movie of someone elses heartbreak.
We sat on the floor of our empty dining room eating Poquito Mas one last time with Dub and Mahmood taking turns singing Itsy Bitsy Spider to Boss and Zu who at ten weeks old were kicking butt at laying on blankets and being cute. Well done guys.
Everything was out of the apartment. All that was left was to cram ourselves the dog, the cat and the baby into the car and go. I had told Zach that I wanted to leave Los Angeles alone. I would drive, just me and living things that could not talk yet, that could not judge my crying but it didn’t work out that way. Zach drove and I sat in the back with Minky and the Boss Baby, looking out the window and praying for a reprieve.It was for the best that Zach drove. I am certain I wouldn’t have been able to leave, instead finding myself at Janice’s door flinging myself at her feet.
Take me in I would have sobbed. And she would have, as she had many times before.
I still feel displaced and shallow for feeling such a way. Since the day we closed the door on our lovely LA home we haven’t had a home.My Mother in law would say of course you do! our home is your home! That is true. It is. But it’s not.
This home is not mine, it’s not supposed to be. These decorations are not mine. These couches and walls, the trinkets and memories that make up a life are not mine. My babies pictures all feature a backdrop that is not mine.
I struggle with this daily. My iPhone is dying, it works well at everything except at being a phone. When are you coming home? Janice asked the other through the crackle and cutting out of our phone call, both of us cursing my stupid phone. When are you coming home? I feel like the statute of limitations is running out. You’ve been there two years and had another baby. If you don’t come home soon then there will be home.
There will be home. Is here home?
I laughed a little but it hit me like one of those old fashioned cannon balls. Where is home? Where are my walls and ceiling that make up my home? Zach works himself to exhaustion and yet we are still without a home of our own. Our home. For our family. Here. There. I want a home. I want to pin things on pinterest and then have a place to fail miserably at recreating those things. I wants pictures of my babies at my dining room table, in my bathtub, birthdays celebrated at my home.
I am so grateful for where we live. But I want a home.