My Home

It’s my family… So, of course I leave my home in Moab and drive the six hours to Denver and fly from Denver to Michigan - to be there for my folks 60th anniversary

We planned a casual, outdoorsy affair. But it’s August and the heat is mean and the humidity is cruel - and our plans melt

We scramble to reconfigure - to accommodate - to keep the essence of the day

But our tempers flare as the temperature rises and we have grand arguments over ice - and other silly things

…it’s my family.

We created a photo album as our gift - filled with memories - from birth to now

To thank them and to remind them and perhaps to remind ourselves - that what is now is not the whole story

That this now - filled with wheelchairs and sickness, frustration and sadness - this is only a short story within their long journey

And while the photos do show all that was created by this couple, they are also a harsh reminder - that not everyone gets that long journey

Only months before, our family had gathered for a very different reason - And that fresh grief winds its’ way through this celebration

Although it’s my family, or because it’s my family, we can’t all seem to find each other - can’t seem to soothe or comfort

Even with the best of intentions - old tones - ancient attitudes, trigger - new wounds - new regrets

When I fly back to Denver - my mind replays - the successes and failures of the day

I hover over the missteps - miscommunications - missed opportunities

When I drive into Moab the magnificent red cliffs - attempt to welcome me home

But I feel disconnected - detached - distant

If home is indeed where the heart is - my heart is not here.

My home … it’s my family.