"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being."
It’s amazing how you can be in a place for two and a half months, leave for 11, and realize when you come back for an all-too-short 36 hours that “home” means something new, now.
The strange disconnect that’s been growing over the past year - maybe it isn’t some horrific aging process. Maybe it isn’t even a sign of friendships ending. Maybe I’m homesick.
We picked up seemingly right where we left off at the end of last summer, after bleary-eyed hugs and rushed goodbyes in the middle of a workday. I remember standing on my front porch after, watching the endless torrent of rain, and realizing by sunrise the next morning, it wouldn’t be my porch anymore.
Lunches at my day job are hurried affairs under fluorescent lighting, dry cereal spooned into my mouth in one hand while still typing up work orders with the other. For two glorious meals this week, lunch was loud and silly and full.
In a day-long interview, they still took the time to ensure I could visit my favorite resident. I fed her craisins and reminded her of her perfection.
That place is everything I’m hoping for. Just four more days of nail-biting and daydreaming.