universal

I was thinking about last week during the move. I was homesick. It took a couple of weeks, but I felt it. Really, I just didn’t feeling like I was moving to my new home so much as I was moving even farther away from my home. I was sitting around the empty apartment on the Sunday, waiting to do nothing and everything all at the same time.

It’s probably common for everyone to be a little homesick sometimes. Even if you’ve got  some truly supportive friends or a good and sound supportive nuclear family. More supportive, it seems, than you could ask for or imagine. Maybe you miss your favourite candy that you can’t buy any more and this triggers a whole chain of thoughts and sentimentality.  In any case it’s universal.

Maybe if you make a list of what you miss you’ll find they are either things you don’t have where you are now but could  or things that going back to your town or city of neighbourhood of origin wouldn’t actually get you/help you find them.  I was thinking last weekend that it’s true… “you can never go home again” because I wanted to go home like I’ve never wanted to go home before. Home to where Dylan is.

I think I have this ideal vision of what home means, but that home doesn’t exist. At least not anymore. I haven’t truly been home in the last four years. Dylan is definitely a part of me and signifies home. Much of what or who I am has been shaped by Dylan and being Dylan’s mom. But, I’ve changed since then. That’s why they say you can never go home again—it’s not because home is different; it’s because you’re different.  Or, in my case, there just isn’t any ”home” to go home to.

And I am a totally different person since he died and yet the things I wanted to stay in tact have managed to stay. Home is that place as you remember it. Home is a memory. Memories are in the past and will forever be there.  I guess it’s entirely possible and many psychologists would probably say that I was returning to the scene of the crime. At any rate, there’s a gnawing hunger in my heart to experience the way I felt when I was Dylan’s mom once again. 

I have no idea where this adage originated but it appears in "The Guru of Malad" in "The Homecoming" by Jane Woods and as the title of a painting by Bianca Ruff. No matter who deserves the credit, it bears more than just a pearl of truth. Yeah?