A Blur of Memories

Home

Such a small word

Representing such a small town

A blur of memories

Of a girl I no longer am

And no longer recognize

And so many people

Who are no longer a part of my life

I’m not sure if it’s just me

And how I am

Caught up in the nostalgia of it all

Or really and truly

We all feel like this

Seemingly innocent

Buildings and scenes

Yet hold memories

Of a first love

Of change and pain

Of growth and healing

It always makes me miss you

And the past versions of me

Seeing the apartments we lived in

Our hang-over restaurant

The places that grew us

And broke us

It’s wild

How such a small town

Can bring me to my knees

So swiftly, so easily

And so I sit with it,

Crying, breathing, accepting

Caught up in the nostalgia of it all

Home is a slice of the world in which memories lie at every corner. It wasn't the prettiest, but it's real. Authentically, painfully, beautifully real. It was my first kiss on the high school bleachers, picking my mom up from the police, bawling in my car from some dumb heartbreak that seemed easier to cry over than the reality of my broken life and broken family.

It’s a place I resented for most of my life.

I resented who I was, where I was from - my oh-so-different family and our daily struggles.

Shame permeated every moment of my existence, and yet I learned to hide it all behind a smile, laugh, and insane overachievement.

People used to wonder if I was secretly homeless, or secretly rich. I hid so much they couldn’t tell; I am simultaneously sad and proud to admit. My best friends (who I lived with for a time) didn’t even know the full story. No one knew how I slept in my car sometimes, how we’d take showers at the neighbors, how our ceiling caved in and we froze in the winter.

Home was a place full of pretend - where no one fully knew me.

High school diploma in hand, I ran far far away, away from the pain of absent, broken parents and the burden of over-responsibility and growing up too fast. I flew far enough where I saw cities and countries where people had nothing, and we had nothing in common. We couldn’t understand anything about each other but our matching smiles. Through this, I learned how although we may seem so different, we are all at our roots, the same. We all want to be loved, listened to, and understood. From learning Spanish in Costa Rica to riding camels in the Middle East to teaching in Africa, I’d seen more of the world and done more than most people in my little home town could ever even imagine. I pushed away my past, wanting to be nothing like it. And then, from encountering worlds of others, I saw the good things that come from my past, blossoming into something old and something new. I learned to love myself, the adventurous one and the hurt little girl still hiding inside. I recognize the strength and passion to succeed that only a rough childhood can foster. I accepted my hippie roots, discovering love where I used to only feel hate.

And so, I come back here. Home. Because home is where my family is. Home is love, whether or not it’s healthy... it still is love. We work on it - together.

But the funny thing is - we don’t choose our home, it chooses us.

The tree in the park planted for my Grandma that spreads a feeling of peace as soon as I’m under it - only at home.

My beautiful little kitty, purring and soothing me - only at home.

My family’s lake and crowded, possibly verging on hoarder-type place - only at home.

My brother, putting me down and protecting me all at once - only at home.

The most unique, strangest set of hippie parents ever - only at home.

The most creative people I know, that I'm grateful to be related to in blood - only at home.

Full midwestern kindness, drivers waving on the highway, saying hello in the streets - only at home.

I find that I’ve only begun to appreciate the sense of home. That no matter how far I run, how much I’ve seen, I’m still from this little spot in Midwest Missouri, defined mostly by cow fields, trucks, and strangers saying hi on sidewalks. I couldn’t imagine saying this ten years ago, but I can see myself ending up here.

To my family and cousins, I will still push them to explore the world beyond our sheltered little boot in Southeast Missouri. For someday when they understand the complexity of the world, they'll understand the beauty and simplicity of our home.

It’s not much, you’d think at first.. But to me, it’s home.