The Journey Home

Foggy drive on the Pennsylvania turnpike watching the sunrise at the end of the road

As I headed down the Pennsylvania turnpike at six in the morning toward a flight out of Philadelphia, I could barely see through the thick fog, but I knew I was headed home.  I was also leaving the home of my childhood, Harrisburg, and of my family, after the passing of my niece much too early.  Although a very sad time, a funeral is also a time to celebrate and enjoy family that you haven’t seen or spent enough time with.  A funeral is a time to revisit memories with loved ones, assess the present, and consider the future.  I couldn’t help but wonder what legacy I would leave behind and how I might be remembered or celebrated.  I knew my legacy wasn’t about “what” I left behind or “what” I had done; it was all about “who”–who I loved and who loved me.  When I left my home in Atlanta, I said I was going home for the funeral.  When I left Harrisburg, I said I was going home to Atlanta.  The words of Dorothy in The Wiz replayed in my mind, “Home is not where you live, it’s where you love.”  And so this road carried me from one home to another. I love and am loved in both places, and I feel very lucky to be able to say this.  So I didn’t really need to see too far ahead into the fog, because I knew my destination was home.  I just relaxed, kept my eyes on road, and enjoyed the beautiful journey.



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  • December 8, 2015 - 3:34 am

    Carolyn Miller - I am reminded of “The Station”. A poem that speaks to life being a journey, rather than a destination.ReplyCancel

  • December 8, 2015 - 7:43 am

    Chezia Carraway - You are lucky to have found peace in your home. I often feel disconnected and no longer akin to a place or a family. I have lost both parents, both sets of grandparents, all ten of my aunts and uncles, and several cousins to death. Several of my childhood friends, college buddies, and a bestie. I have learned to find solace in my son and an occasional FB post from a cousin. …but home is illusive. ..a moment or two of safety that I feel until the next insecurity of disconnection. If I do not rise..then there is no home.ReplyCancel

    • December 12, 2015 - 4:08 pm

      Miriam - Chezia, I imagine that home is where your son is, b/c that is where you love. He grounds you, loves you, tests you, and amazes you. I’m glad you have him, and he has you. MiriamReplyCancel

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