Home is growing up in a small community.  Home is my Mom standing in the kitchen. Home is the laughter coming from inside. Home is the smell of fresh lumber on a construction site. Home is seeing my dog, Daisy at the end of the driveway when I get off the school bus. Home is understanding that at even 7, that friends can die. Home is stretching the phone cord as far as it can go, to talk to friends ‘privately.’

Home is a brick on the outside, but endless love on the inside. Home is hearing my brother bounce a basketball for hours on the carport. Home is seeing a red or white TR6 in the garage. Home is warm homemade rolls. Home is jumping up on Dad’s backhoe and riding down the gravel road.

Home is hearing Tanya Tucker on the radio that never turned off in the shop. Home is weeding a garden and pulling cucumbers off the vine. Home is swinging on a green swing at my Grandma’s house and listening to trains.

Home is trains. The sound of the rumble, the whistle, the tracks.

Home is hugs from Mawmaw while watching her favorite soaps or peeling the potatoes. Home is curling up in my Grandma’s big red chair and listening to her read her bible.

Home is sitting on the bank of the river that my family still camps on years later.

Home is hammer, nails, and lots of sweat and hard work. Home is being first generational college and trying to explain that I wasn’t trying to be or act better, but my parents made no choice.  The back yard college seemed too big. I could easily get lost there. I needed small. I needed the mountains to wrap their arms around me and comfort me.

Home is winding coal roads to deeper Southwest Virginia. Home is finding friends to share townhouses and mini Christmas trees and boyfriend breakups with. Home is eating meals and laying in tanning beds and laughing at ABC family shows. Home is stressing about exams, papers, and our weight. Home is graduating and shedding lots of tears, knowing graduation will change it all.

Home is watching your mom slowly slip away. Home is watching oodles of family come and give you sad eyes. Home is black. Home is sad. Home is curling up on the couch with your only parent and realizing time is so short. Home is so many tears. Home is now lonely.

Home is walking down the aisle to your future. Home is a handsome man in a black suit, looking nervous but happy.

Home is your first place together. The newest of sharing a bathroom. Home is burning dinner a lot. Home is painting your first apartment together. Home is bringing home a cat and deciding we could keep the cat alive, why not try for a baby?

Home is tears. Home is shots. Home is more negative pregnancy tests. Home is where the door of the world can close and conversations with God happen. Home is finding your knees and staying there for hours. Home is dark again.

Home is bringing home the first baby. Staring at her for hours and wondering how we made it happen. How we actually created something so perfect and beautiful.

Home is baby laughter. Home is sickness. Home is curling up on the couch and doing nothing, but also doing everything. Home is worrying that you aren’t screwing up the kiddo you’ve been praying for.

Home is building a house, but making it a home. Home is looking at the trim work and seeing your husband’s sweat and long hours devoted to building you a house.

Home is singing in the car. Home is eating Mexican in the car during a downpour while the baby sleeps and calling it a date.

Home is a surprise pregnancy test. Home is crying with each new saga the pregnancy holds. Home is heart beat monitors for months. Home is praying that the surprise pregnancy is a healthy baby.

Home is long hospital stays. Home is knowing that this won’t last forever. Home is reassuring it will be okay, knowing if something happens you have each other. Home is being on an IV drip that makes you think you went to hell, but knowing he is there to hold your hand.

Home is bringing home second baby and falling in love all over again. Home is sleepless nights. Home is exhaustion. Home is walking the floors and taking turns. Home is wondering how are we going to do it all —now.

Home is falling in love watching your Dad become a Pawpaw, once and twice. Home is seeing all of them light up the room when they are together.

Home is disagreements. Home is finding it hard to communicate because now there are two kids, two full time jobs, and anything and everything in between. Home is finding balance.

Home is hard some days. Home is lonely. Home encompasses post-partum depression.  Home is black again. Home is lonely. Home is wondering if your baby even knows you. Home is having the courage to get back up and try. Home is knowing someone depends on you.

Home is hearing Momma a hundred times in one hour. Home is little hands and little feet pattering through the house. Home is yearning for time with your spouse and finally carving out an hour at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, just to pass out on the couch watching t.v. Home is knowing that this shall pass, but right now, you just want to be 18 again and watch a movie with no interruptions.

Home is love. Home is good. Home is every good thing that God pours on your heart. Home is praise. Home is worship.

Home is driving in late from work and seeing the lights on and feeling the warmth that’s on the inside in your heart.

Home is ever changing, but Home is love. Home is safety. Home is looking out the window and seeing the mountains. The ever steady. Strong. Comforting mountain. This is Home.



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