Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Home Feels Rights
I was briefly home this past weekend. It felt right. Calm. Breezy. Comfortable. Safe. Love.
I have a few distinct memories within my 23 years of living that I remember taking the time to think, "Never forget this moment."
When I was in Florida when I was little, maybe around 5th grade, my mom and I were walking on the beach at night. We were holding hands and she told me to stop. So we stopped. And we counted some stars. We then had a conversation about how wonderful it was that the moon we were looking at was the same moon people in New York, California, and Ireland were looking at. She then asked me if I knew how much she loved me. I said yes. She told me to never forget. I haven't.
This summer I was at my roommate's cabin in Wisconsin. It was so relaxing. A lot of reading and laying in the sun (with SPF, duh.) My roommate, her friends and I went on her speedboat. They all took turns water skiing. I was too much of a chicken. Some day.... Anyway, I found a cozy spot at the front of the boat. I stretched out. The sun was beaming. The waves made for a comforting rhythmic lullaby. The speed of the boat allowed for the wind to briskly pass on my face. There were small drizzles of lake water splashing on my legs. This was the day before my aunt passed away. I remember overall feeling really down that week. But, during those few hours on the speedboat, I remember having a great serenity knowing that she was going to be safe and free from pain soon. I like to think that she knew I was happy, and that while she was dozing in those few hours, it brought her some happiness too.
This weekend when I was home it was the perfect on-the-verge-of-fall weather. The windows in my bedroom were open, allowing a slight breeze to wander in. I woke up to the sound of my dog's whimper at the bottom of the steps at 6:00. I clambered down the stairs to let him out to go the bathroom. He didn't have to go. He just needed company. I laid on the couch in the family room. He nuzzled his nose under my arm and once I gave in, he rested his head on my stomach. He then voluntarily gave paw. He closed his eyes. I fell asleep again. When I woke up two hours later, he was asleep and snoring. My dad had made a coffee run and gotten me a pumpkin latte. Still hot and waiting for me on the counter. Such a beauty. Dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, with my latte and book in hand, I made my way over to the hammock deep in our backyard. There I contently laid for two hours. My dad was within sight reading the paper, and my mom was in the kitchen on the phone, her laugh audible and soothing.