For the past three summers now, I’ve driven back to Wisconsin, partly to enjoy a summer that offers things to do (Arizona is in “reverse winter” right now), but mostly to be present with family and friends. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live, but it dies a little during the summer and can seem, well, like a virtual as well as actual desert. So, each trip has been like a sabbatical, an immersion in life things, and this current trip is exceeding that.
A high school graduation. Baby shower. The passing of a beloved aunt. Taking stock of my aging father’s situation, with doctors’ appointments, and helping him untie some confusing financial accounts. Pretty much every part of the emotional spectrum.
Driving around the city I lived in as a kid, and later as a mom for many decades, I catch myself realizing how effortless it is to use the shortcuts through a backroad or a neighborhood, without thinking about it. Walking the dog through the neighborhood where my dad has owned a home since 1968, I can name nearly every house by the people who lived there as I whizzed past on my banana-seat bike. For some that may sound melancholy, but it’s the stuff of good memories, and a reminder of where I came from.
The little town I grew up in is certainly different, with the population I remember now tripled in size. Familiar establishments have new names, or have moved to another part of the city. While the biggest grocery store has undergone a renovation, I generally run into people I knew and still recognize, and we take a moment to talk and catch up quick.
And it makes me smile. I’m so blessed to have this place as a big part of my life, with vivid recollection of 4th of Julys and Trick or Treat nights, parades and other big events that easily define a small town.
The stamp on most vehicle’s sideview mirrors often state that objects are closer than they appear. So true. As much as we may busy ourselves with our lives as we get older, childhood is just over our shoulder to remind us of what really matters, and is timeless.
The saying, “you can never go back home” is also true. Not that I would agree with it’s intended cynicism, but something else entirely. As easy as it is for muscle memory to navigate streets and neighborhoods, home is easily accessible to our hearts.
So, fact: We can’t ever go back home, because truth be told even in the hardest of hearts, we never really leave it behind.