Home is wherever I’m with you.
These words were more apt than we might have realized when we selected the song for our wedding years ago.
The city we are leaving is not one any of us would have chosen. It’s not where I would have wanted to bring our daughter into the world, where we would have wanted to live and breathe for the years we have. Yet it has become home, because it is filled with our love and our history.
This house is where my daughter took her first breath. It’s where I learned to make wine, to dress a rabbit, to be a mother. It’s seen Thanksgiving dinners and laughter and tears. This house contains the memories of our family.
We would not be who we are without every day of our lives unfolding just so. Rejoice when goals are achieved and dreams come true, but do not lament that which precedes triumph. The journey is important.
We will be happy to return to Oregon. We all miss the rain, the greenness, the fresh air. We miss the mountains and the trees. But I am immensely grateful for the time we’ve spent in Central California. We would not be who we are without these years. We have been blessed with so many opportunities, and wondering what might have been is fruitless.
There will always be bad days among the good. Perhaps they will look less bad from our new home, but I doubt it.
This morning most of the rooms are empty, and almost ceremoniously, the skies are ushering us out with a rare, sustained deluge– one of only a few rainstorms we’ve seen in our time here. If not for the drought, this rain would not feel just so perfect. That is the rhythm of life.