Sick

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.