I keep thinking about sitting in my grandparents’ backyard with their dog Patsy Cline next to my chair, listening for any one of a dozen family members pulling into the driveway because they were in the neighborhood and wanted to just stop in. This is the first summer of my life where I won’t be spending at least a weekend or two doing that. And frankly, that scares me.
I never really knew what homesickness felt like until Christmas this past year. Dallas’ family is great, don’t get me wrong…but it wasn’t the same as being home. I have spent holidays away from my family, but I was always in the state of Michigan. I don’t know why it was so much harder to be in Georgia.
I’m really trying here. I’ve made friends with the cats and dogs, and I feel like I get along well with my future in-laws. But I wake up in the morning feeling like I haven’t slept and my pillow is soaked. I keep dreaming of things like walking along Lake Huron and hanging clothes on the line behind my dad’s house. The Pure Michigan commercials make me choke up. Yet if I went home, I’d miss Georgia. I’d dream about playing with Bo and Gabby, watching mockingbirds catch bugs on a newly cut lawn, and how pretty red clay dirt looks when it’s wet. Maybe I will never figure out where I’m supposed to be. It was a lot easier when Dallas was still here. Maybe my true home is not necessarily a place, maybe who I’m with is more important.