Like Going Home Again

A couple weekends ago, I went home for the weekend. It was actually half for work, and half for play. Mostly though, it was to be with my Mom close to the anniversary of my Dad's death.

Not that we had time to even think about that, as she was running an expo and we barely sat down with each other for more than an hour the whole weekend. I had to have a whole morning conversation with my aunt that I really didn't want to have, but that's a story for another time.

The first morning I had to myself, and I drove around downtown and thought of all the things I could do as I drove by. I remembered things about my childhood, my adulthood, things that happened just last summer.

The possibility of the day lay before me, and it didn't strike me until I was on the plane ride home, but that was happiness. I felt more accepted there, and I feel like more people know me for who I am, and respect me for it. It was a nice feeling to have for the weekend. Maybe someday I'll find that place again.

But not in this town.