What It Is to Be at Home

"Loss is as daily as bread; happiness alights where it will ... and for all this, life is good." (Robert Clark, In the Deep Midwinter)

I know what it is to feel like there is no place you can land. Not only in your physical space, which in my case is filled with chaos and boxes right now, but also in the deepest parts of your mind. There are times when I can literally think myself in circles, not finding a safe place of certainty that feels solid enough to stay more than a few momentary seconds.

But I have noticed more in these days of confusion how much it means to have places and people around which I feel completely at home. A kitchen that is more comforting than the one in my own home partly because it is filled with people who “get” me so well that I don’t put on any sort of pretense. I know whatever I say it will be okay and they will love me anyway and maybe even laugh with me. A poplar tree I can see in my backyard that I can stare at for hours as the leaves ripple in the wind. The way it is when Will holds me slightly longer than I expect. The way I feel with people who aren't ever sick of hearing from me, people who in their words and in their silence says that they are truly for me, wanting to do whatever they can to make it okay because they believe in me. And into my self-doubt, there is one who speaks the most amazing thing: that I make other people feel good.

I read someplace that grief is intensified depending on your sense of permanence. The more permanent the loss, the deeper the grief. I find for me these people and places where I know I am at home cause me great sadness for how much I will miss them. And it is only right that I should feel grief over so great a loss. But this time feels different than others I have left because this time I have a more convincing belief in solidness, belief that places like home do exist and however long it takes or however surprising the source, I will and must find those places again.
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