Going Home

How do you stop something from ending?

Home is the place you love from a place deep in your heart, that when the dust settles, sets the world right again. We are lucky in this way, to have had so many homes during our country-shifting life.

The blessing of our life in Bulgaria is overwhelming, and the details make me catch my breath. How will we start living again without these things? The familiar sound of the little girls next door playing in the street. Coming home from work, to talk to the neighbors and compare the weeds in our driveways. The wind blowing the leaves. The clouds rolling over Mt. Vitosha. The giant bags of fresh vegetables, fresh croissants from the bakery. Watching the boys catch the school bus every morning, and chasing the cat down the street. Sunday basketball. Grano Pizza. None of these things are special on their own, but together, they weave together our life.

America has not been “home” for 14 years, but all of us are excited to set down our feet and see what the world looks like from there. Living in so many places means that we see, learn, and grow wiser in unimaginable ways. It also means that we’re a little abnormal, and this long string of memories doesn’t mean anything to anyone but us. What do we do with this now?

I’m conscious that family memories are not things of limitless creation. We are finite, both alone and together, and the chance to live together as a family in America is slipping. So, the only thing left to do is to settle, molt, shake out our wings, and Be Here Now. What a gift, to face such a choice.

As much as it fills me with fear and worry, there is no doubt that it’s time to turn this page, to stand in the change, dig our feet in the sand, and hold on as the wave crashes over. Maybe you don’t ever reach a point where life doesn’t hurt anymore, but you reach a point where you’ve learned those moments are temporary. So even as the spray splashes salt in our eyes, it’s up to us to blink our eyes open, look around, and remember that we can swim.