I’m going home tonight. I miss home so much that I can’t even think of what I want to do once I get there, other than to kiss the floor and then go pick up my doggies and then maybe have some Korean food. I have had french fries nearly every day (it’s Passover, there’s not much available for someone who hates to eat meat) I’ve been in Israel–I love french fries but I think I will take a break from them for at least a month.
I will be going home a changed person–I thought I had already been changed from my stroke, but apparently more challenges lay in our path. We had a death in the family, which led us on a journey both physical and figurative: we are in Israel, we are in the journey of grief, we are staring at the ruins, and often we have nothing to say.
With my stroke that I experienced away from home, I did not realize the extent of my injury until I had returned home to my natural routine. I expect the corners of my home to look different, the pictures to take on a new sheen, my dogs to feel different. Or not. I’m on guard.
I worry about the others, about her children, about my husband. I worry about the future.
But I’m looking forward to worrying from home.
I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, throwing the windows open to the view of the City and smelling the air and seeing
the golden light, calling my friends, SEEING my friends, and going back to the routine of life.