Home.

Today, there is something that feels different. 3 months ago we buried my grandmother – actually to the day. I have experienced more emotions related to grief this past week than I’ve had in a while. The sadness can be so exhausting and crippling. At this point there is not a day that goes by where I wouldn’t do anything to see my grandmother again. I can almost feel her hand touch mine, as she did so often in the last few years of her illness.

But still there is something about coming home. My parents live only an hour from my house and on a good day it only takes about 45 minutes. But the drive is my favorite part. I usually leave at night and drive alone, something that I have grown accustom to. The roads are quite and there is the final 15 minutes where I finally enter the valley. Looking out into the distance I can begin to point out each one of the lights in front of me. I can show you where the different “cities” in the mountains are just by the cluster of lights and their placement in the black sky. I am sure that if you didn’t know the mountains were a large part of the valley – well in the night you would have no idea that they are there. But I know. And I know where things end and begin so much so that everything feels like home. From the crystal clear sky, to the mountains, to the rows and rows of orange groves… it all tells me that I am home. A place so familiar, I feel like myself even in the midst of my absence from it.