I looked around the emptying room,

men carrying boxes and beds, tightly wrapped with blankets and tape.

The room where I rocked my baby girls, where we read

our night time books.  I cried: I am leaving my home.


It is no easy task to create a home.  Starting over is daunting;

and true comfort seemed at least 10 years away.


In the new home, the boxes slowly disappeared

and our old friends came out again.

Lovely books, paintings, rugs and blankets. And we all breathed easily–

This is our home: the guts.  Not the shell that we left behind.


And then you came to stay for the weekend,

and the comfort was immediate.  Arranging our things was a pleasure.

And now that you are gone again, I know for certain:

Home is not a shell.

Home is not guts.

Home is with you.



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