Recently, my house at home has been full, loud, and full of compromises. So, then why were we so peaceful and amicable on the day I left town?
Ironic, I guess.
It’s true that there’s no one in the world that I argue more than with my mother. How sad, some people would say. And it is sad, to an extent, but it’s also beautiful, I think, that we’re so honest with each other, that we can annoy the hell out of each other, and yet, when we’re apart, we think only of each other.
And my father. No one understands his temper more than I do. (I inherented mine from him.) But he helps me to see myself as I see him and to grow. And he dreams as big as I do. My dreams are all I got sometimes, and I’m thankful for the ability to pursue them.
It’s scary to think about how much I’ll miss my parents when they leave this earth because I miss them now – only 65 miles away from them.
Sometimes I feel lost, like I’ve got no sense of direction. Like I’m wandering through life… but then I think of home and how my family are like my compass, my map, GPS, and rest stop, and I feel OK.
I write this as I sip my chamomile tea, just like my father taught me to do whenever I have a sore throat. And almost instantly, I felt relief.
-VC
