It's a simple word that can have so many complicated meanings.
Home is a dwelling, a structure, a place where you can sleep and eat and be sheltered from the weather.
Home as shelter was the same place for 18 years. A 2 bedroom condo, third floor. A bedroom shared with 2 sisters. Plenty of space and yet not enough space all at the same time.
Home was a dorm, strange, different. Shared with a stranger who would become like a sister. So different yet still so much the same.
Home to the condo, the same but oh so different. Filled with adults now. 4 adults in the same space that used to be enough felt crowded, cramped, stifling.
Home was the spare bedroom. Where there was room and space, but it was strange, and not my own. It was welcoming and stifling all at the same time.
Home, the first where it was us. Mine. Hubby's and Mine. It was small but freeing, exciting and new. A glorified studio parading as an apartment.
Home, what really felt like our home was old, and weathered and beautiful. It's where we brought our babies home. It's where we became a family. Celebrated our first Thanksgiving, first birthdays, first steps. It's where we grew into adulthood into ourselves. It's where we grew out of space.
Home, the first one with our names on it. Came with sacrifice and torment. It meant leaving what we loved, what we know. It was leaving the only home my babies had known. We were moving to suburbia, you would have thought we were moving to a farm. Close, but it's not a farm.
Those have all been my homes in the literal physical sense, they were the roofs over my head. They don't last forever. You need not look farther then the front page news to realize that a physical home can be gone in a second. Yet through that rubble music rises up. How? Why?
I don't pretend to have any idea what it's like to loose a home. I have never had one destroyed by fire, flood or natural disaster. I have never had to sleep in a car or on the street or in a shelter because we lost our home or couldn't pay rent.
I do know what it feels like to be alone, to be a stranger in your own home.
What I know is that Home is a word that is too big to be defined be a roof and walls.
Home is in the arms of a man who will love you forever no matter what. Who would give his life to protect you and your children and who has taught you more than you could ever imagine.
Home is 4 (soon to be 6) chubby little arms that reach up to you, that can barely wrap themselves around your leg but try to wrap themselves around your body. Little arms that hug and hold and squeeze so tight and remind you that YOU are someone else's home. To those little people (one literally) you are the home that wraps them in warmth and makes them feel safe and secure.
So why my physical home has moved and changed, and will again. It doesn't matter because I have found my home and it can't be contained in one place.