Here, There

It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed
Some prayers find an answer, some prayers never know
We're holding on and letting go

~Ross Copperman, "Holdin On and Letting Go"

Flashes of Memories

It was late fall, early sunset, listening to "Lonely Eyes" as the country music beat accompanied my feet restless for a destination. Thought of my sister, heard her laugh, saw her mischievous smile, then clenched my fists tight to try to stop the tears. I missed her. Thousands of miles and time's invisible barrier now separated us. It wasn't fair. In that moment I understood why my room was still just a room, why the driveway wasn't friendly, why the back deck was just a place to sit, and why the memories of each life remained in carefully sealed boxes. I was waiting. I was waiting for my sister to come home, but she had found a home. I was waiting to go back home, but I never would be able to. I was still the teenager trying to comprehend how her world could fall apart in days and never quite come back together again. My life had rushed on ahead of me; now I wished I had lived those moments just a little bigger, taken more heart snapshots, been grateful for each breath instead of waiting for something to change.

15 years 11 months today. Will I ever stop sitting by the window, nose pressed against the glass, waiting for Daddy to come home?

Kleenex and 1 am Blogs

I want to go home, she said. Tears streamed down her face, tears of loneliness, of longing. It had been too long, she was weary, she wanted to feel loved again. Safe again. Home was where she felt understood, where she could curl up under a blanket and listen to the rain, where she tore off large chunks of roti and wrapped it around steaming curry, where she rollerbladed to the quick beat of 80's music.

She sat silently, cross legged on her bed, and thought about home. There were at least 4. None of them were less than 5,000 miles away. And she was 34. She was home. Even if it would never feel like it. . .