No place like home

When I moved to this city, I was leaving home.  Home... the place where I grew up.  Home... the place where my family lived.  Home... the place I planned to return to.  I always called my hometown home.  Every trip to my parents was a homecoming.  Kurt hated it.  He always told me that our house, in our city, was home.  I never felt it.  Until the week after we said our final goodbyes.  After the funeral, I returned home to the safety of my parents for a week.  It could have been longer.  But after seven days, I had an urge I had never felt so strongly before.  An urge to go home.  To our house.  The place we had built our lives.  The house we had bought together.  That was where I needed to be.  Where I belonged.

I still live in that house.  Since Kurt died its seen its share of tears, but also laughter.  Its the only house our baby has known.  But its not the same.  Its four walls.  It isn't home.  Honestly, I don't know what is.  In many ways, I feel homeless.  Yes, I have a house.  But something is missing.  Our house is not my home. I'm heading back to my hometown for the holidays tomorrow.  I'll be home for Christmas. But that's not my home either.  Its kinda like being caught between two worlds - one foot in each, but belonging really to neither.

They say home is where your heart is.  If that's the case, I suppose I really live in a small glass case, in the Columbarium where Kurt now rests.  I left a large part of my heart there that day.  So I wander between locations, feeling like a vagrant with nowhere to really hang my hat.  Will I stay in this house?  Another house?  In this city? My hometown? Or somewhere altogether new?  Today I really don't know.  Without him none of them feel right.  But wherever I am I'll do my best to make my house a home for Gavin and I, and hopefully one day I will figure out where I belong.  That place where I again feel complete.  Where I can walk in and announce "Honey, I'm home..."