I moved away from my home when I was 18.
I left for college and only went back for one summer break.
West Virginia. North Carolina. Tennessee. Georgia.
I often confused my friends when I would share I was home.
Some knew I was talking about West Virginia.
Others assumed I was in Georgia.
In my heart West Virginia was home.
I loved being there with my family.
I am the lone sibling that moved away.
Which sometimes is weird because I think of all us kids...
I'm the one that needs each of them the most.
Mom and Dad were there...enough said on that.
It was home.
Yet the family me and myLove would create was in Georgia.
I love our home...the people that inhabit this place are rad.
The moon vanishes when their star-y eyes gleam at me in the mornings.
My day is bright.
My home is here.
My heart was confused.
When my mom died my world changed.
West Virginia changed...
I quickly traded it for Georgia.
Oh wait...remember I stopped over in Tennessee for a while and now bleed orange.
I mean...GO VOLS!
The only explanation for the loss of home was the disappearance of a near perfect mother.
So that was the answer.
She was my home.
It didn't matter where I was, I was uncomfortable.
And home is not usually uncomfortable.
Enter the counselor.
I poured my heart out.
I searched for understanding.
I don't like being out of control.
And my insides were a hot mess.
I don't like to cry.
It continued to rain out of my eyeballs.
Slowly, day by day I would see glimpses of the sun.
Then my counselor delivered the blow...
I took your mom.
I was finished.
I'm hard headed.
to be continued...
But the counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the father will send in my name,
will teach you all things and remind you of everything I have said to you. John 14:26 (NIV)