Going Home

       I'm slicing with the Two Writing Teachers community today. It's always a pleasure to read what everyone writes about their lives.

"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right." 

                                            Maya Angelou

 

      I've lived forty years in Colorado. I don't remember the first day we arrived, but it was in July, 1976. That's more than half my life, and yet this week I tell people I'm traveling back home to visit family, my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew, countless cousins. I grew up in Missouri, married in Missouri, spent time there with my husband in Missouri, and left when my daughter was not quite a year, my son was about to turn five. Colorado is certainly their home, and I love it very much, but home to me is Missouri. It's Missouri with the family, Missouri with the rolling green hills, the farms and fields, and reds and oranges of autumn. Missouri with the fascinating insects. Yes, growing up I loved them, those buzzy flying June bugs, the enormous grasshoppers, and the fireflies. No, none are in Colorado. And I miss the bright red cardinals and the Missouri bluebird. There again, not in Colorado.

Taken last year, one view from the cemetery. 

Another view.

        This time my daughter and two granddaughters are making our annual trip back to be with my brother and sister-in-law. Sadly, my grandson Carter can't be with us this year. We will miss him! We'll be visiting others, visiting those no longer with us except in spirit. Yes, we'll make the time to visit many graves, and share memories of so many we remember, and those we call family. We'll drive up and down the streets of the one little town where I grew up, look at the homes of grandparents where we stayed so often, telling stories to the grandchildren, like how I'd roller skate down to the post office to say hello to the postmaster and to check out the wanted posters. And I'm going to see many of my cousins one evening, a much anticipated gathering. They mostly live close, and get together about once a month. This time I'll get to be there!

        Yes, I'm going home.