Home | Daughter

I remember the first time someone felt like home to me. Someone I didn’t grow up with. Someone I didn’t know. 

I remember how everything he introduced me to, seemed to fill some sort of hole I wasn’t aware of. Like there were these little spaces waiting for what he was about to bring into my world. It was like he walked into my life with a vase that fit perfectly on a shelf. Or with a piece of art that would hang perfectly on a wall that never seemed vacant before.

I loved that feeling. It was so new. it was so comfortable. It was such a lovely home. But then he moved. And then I moved. Carefully wrapping his gifts so I could safely take them with me to my next home.

I haven’t felt that way in a really long time. Or since, really. I feel like I’ve been waiting for someone to come in again and perfectly place themselves in my world. I’ve watched silently as some tried to find a shelf that had room. Or stood with my arms crossed as others tried to figure out which walls had studs behind them. Or just looked away when a few walked in empty handed. Because to me, whenever those things happened, it meant they weren’t home. 

But sometimes people just luck out and find a space that just seems to fit. A place where there’s plenty of room. And other times, it’s not as easy. Sometimes people find a space that’s a bit crowded. Or one that needs to be rearranged to accommodate what they’re bringing. 

Or maybe people just need to be welcomed into a space. And have someone show them there’s room. And help them unpack their things…if they feel like this could be home.