Now that I’m in the process of moving, and selling the only place I have ever owned, I’ve started thinking about “home” and what it means to actually be at home. My entire life growing up, I have had one home I can count on and really feel safe, that was my grandparents’ house. I was practically born there, as a child I would go every Friday night for dinner and all the holidays – a tradition that would carry through till the end. I even lived there for 8 years during the time I was in university and as many of you know, it is where U2R1 all began.
Since my grandfather passed over a month ago, I’ve visited the house a few times, it is empty now and what once felt like home now feels more like a shell missing it’s heart. This past weekend Michael and I have spent packing up our things and clearing out our loft downtown. Our plan is to sell our place and drive to LA, destination unknown. For the first time in my life, I will have no place to call my home.
I remember times in my life where I would feel most challenged in life, and I would be at my lowest, I would be at home crying, and in my head a thought would always come up “I want to go home.” The odd thing was, that I was physically at home. I didn’t understand why that always happened and it would always jolt me out of my state for a moment and I’d be totally puzzled “why am I thinking that? I am sitting in my room”
Later on in life as I started to learn more about our spiritual existence, I would read books that talked about how when we die, we go “home” back to the source, or at least closer to God. What that actually means I have no idea, but I had my “aha” moment when I realized that my soul was in pain seeing my body in pain and even though I didn’t understand it, intuitively I knew that there was something out there that was calling me home.
“Home is where the heart is” the age-old saying, I used to think, home was where my bed is, my bed, my sanctuary, my safe haven. Lately though all the places that I’ve called home in the past 30 years are almost gone. I realized walking into the empty house on Richview Ave, where my grandmother used to cook in the kitchen and my grandfather used to sit in the sun-room, is no longer home, because those people who made it my home have moved on.
So home was really where my heart was, and now my heart is with Michael, Keane and spread all over the world. Home is with my mother, brother, family and friends in Toronto, home is with my father, aunt, uncles and cousins in Israel and now home will soon be with new people and new loved ones in Los Angeles.
The thought of having no physical home is both exhilarating and frightening, but when fear rears it’s ugly head, I am learning to look within my heart. By remembering those moments back when I was sad and tapping into my soul, I am reminded that home is something bigger than I can imagine. That the safety that I feel when I was at my grandparents is with me all the time, from God, from them, and from the ones I love who are with me every day.
And when I think about it that way, there really is no place like home. 😉
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