Technically I am in my home. The mortgage to this house has my name on it. It’s filled with my stuff. My husband, two of my kids and all of my pets live here with me.
But it really, really doesn’t feel like home.
I miss Lincoln. I miss my friends and my house and the city itself. Real restaurants and stores and just the familiarity of recognizing everything as I drive along. I miss having memories attached to my surroundings. This new town is nice and the people have been friendly but it’s all strange and uncomfortable.
I just want to go home.
I want to go back to my house in the north end of town. It wasn’t a perfect house, but at least I knew it’s faults and peculiarities and how to deal with them. I want to walk the familiar route through my neighborhood where I know the people in the houses I pass and their stories.
I want to shop in the grocery store where I know where everything is. I want to see the faces of friends and neighbors in the aisles and I want Jerry - who has bagged my groceries for over 10 years - to smile and tell my I’m looking good today.
I want Reagan to be able to stop by and do a load of laundry and eat my food while we watch Say Yes To The Dress.
I want Faith to be her happy, sociable self again. Not this sad child who misses her friends and her school and her dance studio and clings to my side like she hasn’t since she was very small.
When Hayden leaves for college in a few weeks, I want it to be a few miles down the road - not 9 hours away in a different state.
It’s good to go through hard things - it’s where we learn and grow the most. But it also kinda sucks and today I’d rather not. Probably I shouldn’t even publish this particular post because it’s pretty pathetic, but this is where I’ve chosen to record our history and so I will so that when I look back at this time I’ll be able to (hopefully) see how far I’ve come.