I spoke to an old friend the other day. We’re linked by loved ones who’ve passed. What a sweet and caring woman she’s always been. Four years after her husband passed away, she has changed her work situation, traveled, built a new relationship and home, repaired other relationships, and finally now feels content. Her husband passed 4 days after Mom. Dad and I went to the viewing. The line wound through the funeral home and out the door. A shuttle gave people rides from the parking lot. We saw her often after that. Dad had a crush on her. He gave her a watch for Christmas one year. And now when I see her, that’s what I think of. Because, although she has moved on and built a life, I have not yet. At least not fully.

I’ve been saying that for a long time, it seems. I’ll get there. At the pace of a slow crawl. I haven’t found my ground to stand on. This is not home. And yet it is. My old home. I still long for the family home I don’t have any more. It’s time to let it go. I need to build my own, whatever that means. Whatever that takes.