Home is not a word but a feeling that I have been longing for all of my life. Home is where you can always feel accepted and loved. Home is where you can rest, and laugh and take your time without anybody rushing you. Home is a judge free environment with you favorite meal in a crock pot and Grandma’s homemade pumpkin empanada’s under the glass cake stand. It’s Mom’s fingers tapping on my back with her arm stretched out behind me seated in the pews at my Grandfather’s funeral. It’s the smell of the season changing every October that instantly sends me into a downward spiral of depression. Home was a place that vanished after their divorce, and it was forever tarnished with the painful memories. The police lights flashing through the curtains of my window in the dark of winter. When I woke I found Mom sobbing while peaking out the window watching the officers place Dad in the back of their car. Home is equal parts shame, humiliation and sadness. Home is the only place that I ever want to be.
Day 3: Writing101