It’s difficult to explain what being home is like. There are so many other times that I’ve used the phrase “it’s like coming home” to describe something else that…I don’t know how to find the words to describe the actual act of being home after a trauma.
Because that’s what this has been. A trauma. For all of us. For Amras, for me, for everyone involved in getting us home, for every one of our crew mates who are still floating about in luxurious confinement, going slowly mad. It’s a trauma, no more, no less. Everyone reacts to trauma differently. Everyone gets slack.
This hasn’t been a normal homecoming. I can’t hug my parents, I can’t cuddle the cat. Conversations have to be held from across the yard or through a screen door with safe distance in between. Our family picks up our groceries for us and leaves them in the driveway so I can go out and pick them up when everyone is safely out of harms way. Everything from flower delivery to mail pick up is done with gloves (fresh pair, every time), and even our luggage got sanitized before we unpacked it. For two weeks, we can’t even step off the property…
It’s all so very different…
And yet…
And yet…
This has been one of the best, most brilliant, kindest homecomings that I have ever experienced in all my years of travel. When Amras and I arrived home from the airport, it was to the scent of fresh flowers and a fully stocked fridge. It was with more messages of support and homecoming and care than I have ever experienced before…and that has been ongoing, in the few days we’ve been here.
And…we are seeing how much we have changed.
Windows are open, screen doors are thrown wide. We’ve eaten breakfast outside every morning, simply because we can. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee makes me tear up. The simple sound of people conversing as they walk down the street is comforting. The few cars that pass our house are comforting. I no longer care so much what people think of me, or if people are staring at me. I am even enjoying the occasional chill in the air (the weather onboard ship was sweltering and unchanging, “perfect” weather can grind on you more than you think). I’m spending less time in front of the computer and more time on the patio.
The first thing Amras and I did the first morning we were home was just stand outside and…breathe. And try not to cry, and breathe some more.
I forgot how much I’d missed the birdsong…
Home hasn’t changed. The way I look at it has. The way I appreciate it has. Not just the building, or the birds or the people, but all of it together.
Home.
The world is changing. Has changed. Will change. There are some really really big decisions around the corner for me and my fellow gypsies. It’s too soon to make those decisions, we are still too raw, too ragged and worn too thin. We need to heal and stabilized and allow ourselves the time for that process; then we can address the big questions. Not before.
But for now? For now…we are enjoying the time off the rollercoaster…
And taking the time…to be so, so very grateful…
And to listen to the birds…