When you live far from where you began, the heart stretches, learns new rhythms, rarely stops reaching across oceans and time zones. There’s always someone missing from the room, always a voice you wish you could hear…
My daughter and her children were in the States, visiting my mother. She’s ninety now. When they said goodbye, my grandson, Gabriel, told me she cried. His little voice softened, “I hugged her three times and told her I would see her again.”
The sweetness of a child who doesn’t yet understand the weight of time, meeting the knowing heart of someone who has lived through it. Love held in the space between them — one just beginning to measure life, the other measuring what remains.
Home, for me, is both here and there. It’s in the laughter around my table and in my mother’s hands folded in prayer. To live between two places is to live with your heart always on your sleeve — tender, exposed, grateful, and forever holding what is not beside you.
Leave a Reply to TracyH Cancel reply