Home is where the heart is

I’ve been away from my family for five years now. We’re very close knit, due in large part to our lifestyle. With Daddy in the military, we were all the only constant in each others’ lives. We moved every three to four years. Friends we met at new Air Force bases were practically erased from our lives just as quickly as they came into it. Momma, Daddy and Cassandra were always there.

Since working for a nonprofit specializing in adoption and foster care, I’ve learned a lot about the bond parents share with their children, especially mothers. Babies, after all, shared their mother’s body, felt her heartbeat, heard her every breath. It’s no wonder bonds are still strong following birth. Nearly 30 years later, I can still smell my mother’s scent, see her smile and hear her footsteps even though she’s hundreds of miles away.

I go through a few bouts of homesickness every year. I long for my parents and miss my sister like crazy, call them up, cry for a few hours afterward and then it’s over. This bout, though, has been the longest and hardest. I couldn’t call my mom on Mother’s Day because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it through without sobbing uncontrollably. Honestly, tears fall down my cheeks now just as easily as it is to type these words.

I’ve said it what feels like a million times, I’m an emotional rollercoaster, almost a wreck at times recently. Think of it like this: the dam broke, and the water gushes out of my eyes with such intensity that there’s no stopping it.

My homesickness is what my therapist brought up immediately this last time around, and every time we talk about my family, the tears fall. At this point, I don’t even feel them welling up. I don’t know they’re there until I feel the drops on my legs.

“Did she know?” I thought to myself as I recalled being curled up in bed, my back turned to Justin as I cried silently to myself.

Justin knew. “I’m sorry,” he said with heartbreaking pain.

Unfortunately, he knows just as much as I do, there’s really nothing we can do. I just let it pass.

My family is my safety net, and right now, there’s not a whole lot making me feel emotionally safe. I called my parents last weekend, the first time since Mother’s Day.

“For more than 20 years, I felt homesick. I missed my mom. I know how you feel,” Momma said as I failed to choke back the tears. “When my mom died, I didn’t feel homesick anymore.”

“I understand, baby.”

God, that made it so much harder.

The first time I sat in my therapist’s office, she asked me to imagine the safest place in the world. I responded home. She asked why.

“My mom is there,” I uttered under my breath.

It’s all coming full circle now. It’s all making sense. Home isn’t about the Chesapeake Bay, the way the air smells the closer you get to Ocean City, the awful traffic or the copious amounts of sweet tea, seafood and Old Bay seasoning. Home is where your heart is. It’s where you feel most safe.

Now, that’s not to say I’m unhappy at home with my husband and dog. Not at all, but I know he’s always there. He’ll always come back. Right now, I only know my parents are coming in August. I have no idea when I’ll see my sister, who without a doubt is my best friend.

I’ve kept a lot of emotions to myself my entire life. It’s kind of how my sister and I were brought up. After seeking therapy, though, I can’t control the emotions. It’s sometimes overwhelming. It makes me irrational.

I’ve texted my sister with an unnecessary amount of caution because I’m terrified she’s upset with me. I don’t want to make her mad.

I’m in a constant battle with these emotions.

“Put all your emotions in a box. What does the box you’re imagining look like?” my therapist said this last session. I told her I have been feeling raw, and she said this will make it easier.

“It’s clear. It looks like those containers you put flour – or cookies – in,” I said. We both chuckled.

Putting your emotions and thoughts into an imaginary glass jar is a lot more difficult than you know, but life, I’m learning, is a work in progress.