Home?

While my husband was alive, it didn't really matter where we lived, as long as we lived there together.  I could have lived in a shoebox, as long as he was there.  But since he has passed, I don't feel that way anymore.  I feel adrift, something that I haven't felt in 29 years. 

Going through life with my family was fun.  From age 0 to 12, we moved almost every year.  But we were still a family, for the most part.  Always doing something together, even if it was simply walking to the lake to fish (I never did catch a single fish).  We made dolls out of flowers and dollhouses out of magazine pictures, fabric scraps and pieces of wood, usually all put into a cardboard box that was hanging around, or a shoe box.  But we were home... always and no matter where we lived.

Then foster care took all that... home was gone.  There were no more dolls made of flowers or sisters to argue with and share with.  I simply went from place to place whenever the social workers and whatever foster parents decided I wasn't "right" for the situation.  Sometimes 3 times in as many months.  I was adrift....

As I got older, my daughter was my anchor.  She was my focal point in life.  I lived in a space, where ever that was, and I was home....

Now, I have no idea where home is anymore.  I mean, yes, I live in a house.  I have pets.  I see my sister almost every day.... but I am not home anymore. 

I guess hearing from a guy from high school kind of brought up a lot of things that I thought had long since passed.  Things that, for the most part are not pleasant.  Feelings I thought were gone, dead and buried. 

But mostly it made me realize that I am homesick.  Really homesick.  The problem is, there is no home.  My husband is gone.  My daughter might as well be gone.  And I have no idea where I want to be or who I want to be.....


Is there really a place called home?