being me

I Hope You Have a Home

On Saturday, my mother got the call we had all been dreading.  Come home, it is time, she is ready.  My 98 year old grandmother had taken a turn for the worse and now had told the world that she was ready.  A plane ride later, and a vigil kept and mormor is slowly slipping away.  We get reports through emails and phone calls; no news, it just gets worse, she is ready to go home.  

My family is not one seeped in religion, in fact, hardly anyone believes in an afterlife.  So when my grandmother speaks of home, she does not speak of the heavenly version, or the eternal one, but the one where my grandfather is.  As some of you know he passed December 14th, 2011 after 62 years of marriage to my grandmother.  In those 62 years they spent one night apart, one night, and they hated it so much they never did it again.  So home to my grandmother is wherever he is, wherever they can be together.  And we wish nothing more for her than that she gets her wish even if it means leaving all of us who have looked to her for comfort, wisdom, and eternal optimism.  Home is no longer with us.  It is and always has been wherever morfar is.
So although it may be selfish, or it may even be cruel to others, I look at my own relationship with Brandon and I realize that he is my home.  That wherever he is is where I need to be.  And I am comforted that someday I will be in that same position, I understand what it means to be done with life so that you can be with the one you are supposed to be with.  I understand when my mormor wishes for peace, saying she has lived enough, that she is ready and that we will be ok.  
So in the end I wish nothing more for anyone, that they too have someone to come home to after a long life, after a lot of life.  I hope you have a home.

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