When Doc asked me to marry him, it was understood that the package included moving with him to Virginia and leaving Dayton behind for a (long) while.
I remember the first time I went back home after I married Doc- I missed it.
And the whole time I was there visiting, I pined for my new home.
But I think anyone who has grown up and established their home where their husband is feels the same way the first time or two they go back home.
Nothing has changed and everything has changed. Magical evening light still pours through the kitchen window next to the back door where dogs are always scratching their paws on the metal to be let inside.
Same sounds, different dogs.
Same light, different blonde braids, same squeaking stairs as different little girls run up as fast as they can holding the same wobbling handrail, different carpet, and it feels nice under my feet.
We still play in the backyard, Bop still shoots the basketball just like she did when time was too opaque for four girls to understand that the only Present we knew was just a Chapter in a life that had so many more Chapters ahead.
It’s funny how time moves, isn’t it?
It has a way of getting you lost in it, especially when you’re very young.
Leaving home to visit home is a happy time, life experience having taught you by now that it’s only a Chapter, full of stories of the past.
The juxtaposition of your new family invading that old space is what throws you. Is what keeps you leaving home to come back home, missing home, going back home.
It’s still confusing.