Friday, June 14, 2013


Home is kind of a funny thing. I have a few of them.

First, there's my home in Bellingham. Right now it's a tiny four bedroom apartment close to my school. In a month I'll be moving into a house with four other girls-two of which I live with this year- closer to campus. It's kind of home, but we only lived there for a year, and some pretty shitty things happened in my time there so I'm excited to get out. 

My other home is in Maple Valley. It became less of my home when I moved to college, but even less of a home in January. It feels so unsettling here now. I don't get the same "ahhh, it's good to be back" feeling anymore. It's empty without my dad, even though he didn't take up a lot of room or make much noise ever, but his presence is gone, and it's weird. Everyone is sad without him and it definitely reflects in the atmosphere. It's stagnant and bittersweet (emphasis on the bitter) in this house. There are constant tiny references of Dad, whether it's his guitars in the den as soon as you walk in the door, or something as small as a "menu" he made for the kids in the pretend restaurant (which was just the kitchen) that's still hanging on the fridge. 

I've heard people say time and time again that they can feel the presence of their lost ones with them. I can't. But this is as close as I'll get to it. Instead of being reminded of the happy times in this house, I'm reminded of the times I saw my dad frustrated because his hair was falling out, or struggling to breathe while going upstairs, or not being able to play his guitar because he was too tired. 

Home is the place where I would hear my dad's silly laugh and hear him playing Blackbird on guitar. 
That place doesn't exist anymore. 

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