In a few short weeks, I'll be moving home. Home, I say. Home. As in, the place where memories meet futures and I can sit for long evenings at my mother's table and share with my son the stories of our lives. As Call Day approached, I had imagined I would end up feeling a bit like Sarai or Ruth; but like Naomi, I get to go home. While I'll still be 75 miles from my mother's kitchen table, I'm certain I'll find it's a rather short distance for my homesick heart.
What's more, I'm not just returning a place where my mother is. I'm returning to a place whose stories have become intertwined with mine. A place whose customs and traditions have influenced my view of the world, and set me apart from so many others I've met along the way. A place like no other place; the good life. I am content.