As inevitable as death, the holidays are upon us. My birthday is in between all of that mess and I have found myself, once again, longing to go home. Not just to Kentucky, but the place I grew up (for a couple of reasons). Albeit nostalgic, I can’t seem to cure my heartache.
Although the circumstances could have been both better and worse, I feel like I had an advantage while growing up. I come from a long lineage of poor, hard working people who knew nothing but work, love, and play. My entire immediate family lived within a small radius and were incredibly close. Money was hard to come by, but it made me appreciate things so much more as an adult. My parents loved one another and tried their best to raise two girls (and critters) in a 900 sqft farm house on a 250 acre farm.
The strange thing about the previous sentence: when my dad passed away last year, I begged and pleaded with the Universe to let me talk to him. It took months and dreams of seeing him in the distance before I got my wish. Where is it that I find him? Home. He was young and healthy in our tiny house with all of our beloved creatures. I could feel the sunshine and could smell the sweet heat of summer. It was glorious. My dad was aware that he was no longer with us, but didn’t know how long he’d been gone, “There’s no sense of time here.” I absolutely think this was real.
Maybe our afterlife, once our concentration of energy is dispersed back into the world, we go where we loved and were most loved. Where we were the happiest. A lovely and romantic thought. I will remain hopeful.