Coming home.

Windows down, fresh summer breeze pouring in. Sun on my back, clouds overhead, lightning ahead in the distance. I don’t mind being stuck in traffic, I have nowhere to be. Christina Perri’s voice spills out of the speakers, filling the car with sound. I scan my surroundings, finding immediate peace in the midst of rush hour. Everyone is on their way home; to their husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, senile parent, dysfunctional sibling, kids, dog, parrot, empty house, cluttered apartment, tattered shack, shimmering mansion, whatever. They are going home. I am going home too. Nobody will be there to greet me, except for the puppy. Mom is working late tonight. This has become the norm and I am okay with it. I fly around the corner of the exit that takes me home and my CDs scatter everywhere. I follow a “student driver” for a few miles. That nervous teen was me a year ago, going two under the speed limit, putting on the brakes for the slightest curve in the road, gripping the steering wheel with each muscle in my hand. Now here I am, a year later, driving alone, embracing the privilege of having this sacred time to think. I think of my day, I didn’t really accomplish much but I did spend time with the grandparents. My grandfather has gotten so old. For every thought he cares to share, he has to search for the words. For each step he takes, he shuffles those bony feet of his. I like the way my grandmother still calls him “babe” and it melted my heart from when sitting in the back seat, I saw him reach over and rest his hand on her thigh, giving a gentle, loving pat. I think of how funny this whole life thing is and how strange and thought provoking it is for me to watch this man, who has eighty years on me mind you, decline. For a moment, I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of this gift I have been given--life. I take a large deep breath as the wind pulls my hair to one side and as I exhale, I feel my eyes twinkle and my smile widen. I am blessed.