In December my dad died, and since that time I have been aimlessly wandering emotionally, not certain which direction to turn. We lived over a thousand miles apart for 25 years, and all this time I have been trying to find my way back home. Trying to find a place to belong, a place to simply "be". Along the way I have lost myself, so to speak, as I grew up and "became". Sometimes who we become or exist as is not the person we truly were meant to be. This probably doesn't mean much to the casual reader, but to those who have done the exact opposite of what their chosen path was meant to be, I think you'll understand the complexity of the place I find myself.
My dad had one desire before he died. He wanted to go home one more time to the place he had shared with his wife, companion and his best friend. He did in fact go home, but only for a short visit, as he departed shortly thereafter on a greater journey home to be with his wife, my mama. I have no doubt she was waiting for him, as he departed three years to the day she died ... home once more.
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