When you’re young “home” is such a concrete concept. At least for me it was. Home was my house on Grandview St with my mom and dad and little sister. It was the chipping red paint, and sitting on the back step, and sleeping cats, and brown and gray carpeting. I never moved back after college, but that concept of home remained the same while I was in school. When I was sick, that was where I longed to be.
In the years since; my father passed away, my mother moved out of the house and into an apartment and into another apartment. I don’t even know what that house looks like today or if anyone is living in it. When I go back to Pittsburgh I stay with my sister in her apartment. It’s like going home, but not. It’s disjointed and hard to keep track of.
I’ve built my own little family in another city and yet that idea of “home” is still somehow scattered. While I like my apartment, it feels temporary, and it’s certainly not the place I want Brady to think of as “home” when he eventually grows up and moves away.
We took a trip back to Pittsburgh (which isn’t even technically my hometown) this past weekend. It really made me think. The old cliche is really true – home is where the heart is. I feel wonderful and warm seeing my mom and sister play with Brady. But I would really like to get my new concept of “home” in more permanent shape.