It’s been 55 days since we sold our house and moved to another town.
I’ll be the first to admit that Dorothy from Oz was right. There is no place like home.
We’ve been living with family for the past five weeks. Last week, we moved into my husband’s grandparents old house. It’s a small house, but I can’t express how grateful I am it was here for us when we needed it.
In the meantime, I’ve been searching for a new house. Where? That has been the question. For two years, we’ve been trying to sell our house, I was yearning to move back home. Yearning to live closer to my family. I never imagined that I would miss the one place I wanted to leave so much. In the weeks we’ve been gone, I’ve come to realize it isn’t the street we live on I miss. Yes, I miss my house. Yes, I miss my family and desired to live closer to them. However, the people we have grown close to over the years have become like our family in many ways.
My kids don’t see home the way I do. The home they know and remember is the one we sold and the place we left.
I’m told that moving is on the top of the most stressful events in a person’s life. I can attest to how true this is.
I can’t give my family back the house we sold. The street wasn’t the best place for raising a family. While I love my family, they understand I will always come to visit them, but there is no place like home. No place like the one where your friends are, the people who get you, and you feel you fit in best.
It’s not where you come from. It’s not where you think you should go.
Home is where your heart tells you to belong.