[Image credit: Sura Nualpradid]

When I was at ASU, I wrote a short story about home and how we leave little pieces of our hearts behind each time we return from an absence.  When my mom suffered from Alzheimer’s while residing in a memory care facility, she often begged to go “home.”  I refer to my Midwest roots as my home although I’ve lived in the Southwest for a dozen years.  As I spend time with loved ones this weekend, the definition of home for me is a place where I can be my transparent self and where a void in my heart becomes whole, albeit briefly.  And my only hope is that it will be enough to tide me over until the next time.

Have you ever experienced that feeling of coming home?