Home is where my babies are.
On September 11th, 2001, my mama had to call all of her children. That very next weekend, she drove to the farm to visit us and she sat by our firepit outside, cradling a barn cat and said that she just needed to see or talk to her babies. At the time, I didn’t understand it. I thought she was overreacting. After all, we live on a farm in rural Alberta and the treacherous act happened in New York. On American soil for the simple reason that it was American soil and would harm mostly American people. But the thing is, it didn’t. It sent shockwaves everywhere, including, our little corner of the world.
Fast forward, 15 years, and I get it. My babies are 20 and 21 and they live in closeby cities. I’m thankful that I can get to them relatively quickly, if need be, because home is where my babies are too.
My mama died 11 years ago this past Thanksgiving and this year was the first year that I have actually felt present for the celebration weekend. I wasn’t numb. It was also the first year since my mama has left this earth, that I didn’t consult my dad or invite him for Thanksgiving, I didn’t fall into an obligatory dinner with anyone and I just spent it with my husband and my babies, somewhere else, not at our house. And it was wonderful.
Sometimes it takes years to step away from something one feels duty bound to be a part of. For me, this year, it was necessary to just take care of me and be present. Integrity of word, even to self, this is my focus right now and if home is where my babies are, then that is where I need to be.