Happiness is a warm hug...
This past week, after 4.5 months of complete isolation, I was finally able to not only spend time with people but GOT TO HUG THEM. How? Well... allow me to share.
A few weeks back during just a moment of pure desperation and loneliness, I reached out to my dad to see if I could come home for a visit. We agreed to push it out till the end of the month and I went ahead and booked my train. To say that I was nervous to travel would be an understatement. I was a nervous wreck the entire week... stomach in knots and just fighting off the anxiety. I always get anxious when I travel, but this had a whole other level to it.
I was convinced that I would cry when I hugged my dad, but I didn't. It was more of a relief than anything else. My dad is the only person on the planet that I can sit in total silence with and never question what he's thinking. We're a lot alike and that definitely helps. I got to spend time with him, my stepmom, my stepsister, and her family... which means I got to see and hug my nephews which I've been wanting to do more than anything. I caught up on a lot of sleep, read a whole bunch, and really just had a relaxing week.
But this post is not to gloat or brag that I was able to see family when so many don't have that luxury. This is to talk about home and comfort and what that means to me.
I wrote a few months back (or maybe more... what is time, anyway?) about home and how nothing has ever felt like home to me before I moved to NY. The house I grew up in is just that... the house I grew up in that my mom still lives in. I moved around a lot with my ex and because of the uncomfortable toxic environment I was living in, nothing ever gave me that comfort. The closest thing to a home I ever felt was my dad's house.
You see, the house my dad now lives in was my family's summer house pre-divorce. My parents bought it when I was 4 and it was your standard Cape house: 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, 1 floor. It was perfect for the 5 of us for a couple months out of the year. When my parents got divorced and my dad moved there full-time, I spent almost every single weekend with him. It was usually just us and it's where we bonded. We ate pizza and rented movies (remember Blockbuster, kids?). He taught me how to play poker. That house never felt like anything less than home, even though it wasn't my home.
When he knew he was coming home permanently from Europe, after 10 years away, he had the house completely redone. Sometimes it's hard for me to remember what it used to look like because I'm simply so used to the way it is now. I was describing the house to a friend this week and the best thing I could think to say is that it feels like a warm hug. That house represents comfort and love and family. I know no matter what happens or where I go, I always have it there to return to.
Then there's this tree...
When my parents bought the house, this tree was a little sapling. I was 4 years old and can basically measure my life in it. It's poetic, in a way, to be able to say that. So many things in my life have changed... especially over the last 2 years. But that tree is still there, still growing, never wavering. Just like the house itself, I know it'll always be there. No matter how many snowstorms or hurricanes blow through, the tree is still standing... just as I'm still standing no matter what life throws at me.
I wish for everyone to have a place they can escape to that gives them comfort. We should all find comfort at home (or at least I hope you do), but to have a secondary place where you can relax and breathe? There's no better feeling.
And remember, no matter what life swings your way, stay standing tall and you can weather anything.
- DB
