If you've known me well at all in the past 4 years, you've witnessed my constant argument with this word and what it means. I've gone nine rounds with "home", and I'm no closer to walking into my current front door and throwing my keys on a little table in the hall under a framed cross-stitch reading "Home Sweet Home" and feeling at peace with the phrase.
What is a home? Does everyone have one? Do I have one? Do I need one? Why do I want one so badly? How do I make one? Is 'home' some sorry human excuse for what only heaven can satisfy? Is it a place? Is it a feeling? What the crap!
The only idea that quiets me down when I'm clawing for answers is thinking about heaven, and singing this song.
"I realized then that home is not some familiar place you can always return to, it is the rightness you feel, wherever you are, when you know that you are loved."