Missing Home

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“Home is where your heart is.” That’s a popular common quote. It is also a true one. Fred and I have lived in Macon, Georgia for a full year. We like it here. We love having extended family near us. But my heart is in Little a Rock, the place we called home for thirty-three years.

My only son and my grandchildren are in Little Rock. My best friends are in Little Rock. The doctors and the dentist that took care of me are in Little Rock. My favorite pastor is in Little Rock. My very special church family is in Little Rock.

As I look into the melancholy skies over the Arkansas River, I know that the lyrics Wayland Holyfield wrote is true of me. “Arkansas, you run deep in me.”

I have learned that moving furniture and boxes filled with things does not make a home. I have learned that lovely home decor does not make a home. I have learned that the heart makes a home where it will, and that it’s hard to leave that kind of home. I have learned that I will survive the separation. I have learned that I will perhaps make a heart-home again. I have also learned that if I don’t, it’s okay. I can miss home and still go on with my life. These have been important lessons for me.

Perhaps the most important lesson of all is that the incredibly strong bond I have with Fred creates home, our safe and comfortable space, even in Macon. In a very real sense, when we are together, we are home.

I would love to hear your comments.

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