Back to the Future

The question lingers: can we ever truly go home? Perhaps the answer lies in how we define it. Is it a physical location, a warm feeling, the presence of loved ones, or a tapestry woven from all three?

For the past four years, I've been diligently pursuing a doctorate in education, with half a dissertation still looming. Meanwhile, the world outside has been a whirlwind of political, cultural, and economic turbulence. Yet, even with my writing practice, I can't fully articulate the emotions swirling within me as I find myself back in my hometown—160 miles away from my adopted home, Naperville, Illinois.

Last spring, my therapist, sensing my need for a writing space, suggested a weekend escape "away from it all." True to my impulsive nature, I bought a modest retreat nestled amongst trees – populated by friendly neighbors zipping around on golf carts. Peace, it seems, comes easier than I thought. As I ponder this, a comment at a local Starbucks jolts me back to reality. A man remarks, "This is strange – a graveyard next to a Starbucks." I wanted to say, "It's more like a Starbucks next to a graveyard that has been here for over a century. And see that Meijer store? It used to be a drive-in theater showing those X-rated movies!"

This juxtaposition feels oddly fitting. Here I am, visiting my parents in another graveyard, finally uttering the words I wished I had spoken years ago. The graveyard becomes a stark symbol of life's impermanence, reflecting my journey with its share of losses. My friend's parents – and sometimes even my friends – also rest in the Circle Hill Cemetary, where I once will be. The relentless cycle of life can be a heavy weight to bear at times.

So, yes, we can go home. But home, like us, evolves and transforms over time. We salvage our remaining relationships, cherishing those loved ones with a tighter grip, for life itself is a precious gift.

(Grammarly and Google Genesis edited this article)