My homesickness is similar to the flank pain of renal failure. Throbbing… walking through my back and abdomen when I’ve lain still just a moment too long. I wonder if I would’ve grown up here if I’d be on the east coast feeling the same thing. I love it out here and want to stay as long as it will have me, but I wish those that I loved were here too. I missed McCai being born and that hurt. I miss Zander calling me Yee-Hee and giving me goodnight hugs, kisses, and expressing his wishes for me to read him a book. I even miss him tiring of my storytelling, shutting it promptly and asking his mommy to take over.
I miss sleeping on a friend’s couch. Not only because she carefully made the bed with borrowed sheets and a loaned pillow. But because she is no more than a room away and raises alarm when she hears me blow my nose in my distinctly violent way.
I miss driving home around dinnertime and stopping by a neighbor’s house to pee and raid their fridge. I miss glasses of wine dipped in the familiarity of years. I’m exhausted with the thought of “putting myself out there” like the possession of some Hollywood madam. I want to sit solidly in the presence of love and know that its kiss is only inches from placement on my skin.
I don’t miss Hershey, or Pennsylvania. I miss my people.
I miss … understanding the vocabulary of a toddler I’ve known since before his birth
… Middleswarth barbecue chips and all the unhealthy wonderment
… longboarding on familiar roads that didn’t, in the least bit, resemble the death trap hills of now
… remembered breakfasts at The Pantry with a friend who is more like a mother
… a grey haired beast of a puppy who is more needy than any child I’ve ever known
… the accessibility of love
I love
… being so close to the natural world that I love
… the proximity of possibility
… the possibility of tomorrow with my people of now
… the sudden simplicity of my wardrobe
… the passion which bubbles the surface of this city
… the views
… how I feel
… the intellect of Seattleites
… the conversation with coworkers in the tiny moments
… the crisp Seattle air that bites when I breathe
… being here
I want
… nothing more than to acknowledge the juxtaposition of emotions that have graced me with their presence. I wouldn’t change where I am, or how I feel for a world of gold.
Sometimes the only cure for this sickness is being grateful that you have something to miss.
