Going home

I go there now and it is so cold and stale, nothing like the warm comfy house that I grew up in. I see the backyard where I spent so many days playing with my sister and my friends. The trampoline that I jumped on for hours at a time is gone, the grass has grown over the bare spot that for so long was beneath it. The swingset that propelled me to the sky is gone. The yard that looked so big when I was a child now seems small. The shed where I parked my bike is now falling down, the roof has caved in. I look around at the house and the yard and I can close my eyes and remember exactly what it looked like in my childhood. I can remember getting off the bus running into the yard, so glad to be at home after a long day of learning. I can remember being scared during thunderstorms and sleeping on the floor beside my parents bed. It was so comforting as a child just being near them. I realized the day that I moved that you can never really go home again. you can go back to the neighborhood, the house even, but it is not home anymore. Home is where your loved ones are. Home is where you take off your shoes and relax after work. Home is where you want to run when you are sick or scared. To me home is where my husband, child, and dog are. I wish I was there right now.