I guess I always assumed that even when I’m gone away there will be a home to return to one day. You know, the home I grew up in. A meeting place for my family. That even when we have all gone our separate ways, we will be able to come together for the holidays. You know, to remember that we’re all out there on our own trying to make it as adults. A support network that doesn’t give up on you just because you need space from it.
I haven’t seen my family since last Christmas. This is now the longest I’ve been away from home without seeing my parents. And sure, I’m okay living on my own, going to school far away, working, keeping busy. But always in the back of my mind was the comfort of knowing that at Christmas I’ll be able to go home for a break.
Well, looks like that isn’t happening this year. My parents only plan on being back in the city for a couple of weeks. Two of my siblings have moved to a different country and can’t afford to go back for a visit, my brother will be on call from work if he’s around at all. And here I am, the youngest child, broken because I won’t get to see my parents for at least another few months, if then.
The home I knew isn’t much to me anymore, but at least I could still pretend it existed even though I’m never there.
I don’t even know what home is anymore…