Going Home

Going home is usually easy for me, but Mother's Day weekend was rough. It was my first time in my parents' new house, and I kept driving by the house I grew up in, seeing the new owners' moving trucks. It was bittersweet because I do love the new house, which has more room for my brother and his family to visit at the same time as me. This was the first time my parents could have us all visit without giving up their own room.

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The last year has presented a series of revelations of how fragile life is and how little it takes to turn it upside down: a few seconds in front of a driver who's not paying attention, a phone call with an abnormal test result, and everything changes. Can the good things also strike like a lightning bolt? I'd like to think so.