Yesterday at 7:00am, I got out of my bed, walked downstairs, grabbed a towel out of the closet at the end of the hall, and tossed it on the bathroom counter. I took a shower with the same body wash I've always used, then shaved in front of the sink, head tilted to one side to see the edge of the mirror that doesn't fog, and put the bathmat up to dry. I put on the old clothes that I had brought downstairs with me, all clean, just like the day I left them. I went to the kitchen, petted the dog, got a bowl out of the cabinet, and poured myself some Cocoa Puffs cereal and ate it. I got myself a glass of orange juice and went upstairs, noticing then that the upstairs trashcan needed a new bag - whoever took the trash out last forgot to put a new one in. I went back downstairs and got one. After putting the new bag in, I lay down on the upstairs loveseat, which made that same old squeaky noise when it rocked back and forth.
And then, a curious thing happened. I cried. I cried hard. I cried for a long time.
Home. One word, and yet it means so much more than I could ever say.
I cried because I hadn't done any of those things in one and a half years. I cried because I found myself rediscovering things I wasn't even aware that I had missed.
I am home.
Ninja-before-posting-edit: I wrote this yesterday, and didn't have a chance to post it. Hence I changed the beginning from "Today" to "Yesterday". I'll write a bit about today (my birthday) in a few.
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Posted Jul 3, 2009