Those Times When Back Home is Just an Aching Void ...

I was on Facebook tonight and I saw a comment left on one of my friend's pages.

I didn't know the someone who'd left the comment.  But their comment showed that the someone was a "friend of ****".  The friend they were a friend of was my ex-brother-in-law.  (Ex in the sense that I am no longer married to the brother of the sister to whom he is no longer married.)  

Soooooo, I'm coming clean here.  I admit it.  I am a LURKER ... (eeeegaaadddss!).  I saw his name and I went to check out his FB page.  Because that's what lurkers do.  And I scrolled down.  Not much public information, but a link to a Flash Mob Christmas Carol at Mall (I'll include the video link below).

I clicked on the link ... not because I was feeling Christmasy in May but because I wanted to get a sense of what he was into these days.  

And I cried.  I forgot about my ex brother-in-law, I forgot about what had led me to this link.  I just cried.  I cried for Christmas in May.  Because the link was a link to home.  To the feel-good familiarity of people who don't know each other but 'get' what brings them together.

Unless you've been an expat, I don't know if you can truly appreciate this feeling.  This aching for home.  This aching for what you miss.  This aching for what you think you truly know.

Most days I'm perfectly happy in the ME.  Of course I miss my family.  I'm sad that I can't attend family weddings and baptisms.  I regret that I can't spend more time with my mom and dad.  I miss my friends.  I feel bad about not calling home more often.  But beyond that, I'm mostly happy in the ME.

But EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE ... I get an ACHE.  An ache so big it cripples.  It is an ache for things familiar.  

It is an ache for the smell of spring (you know that smell, the one of fresh sheets laid out on the bed after blowing in the cool spring breeze all afternoon).  

It is an ache for sight (you know that sight, the one where you wake up in the morning and see sunlight reflecting a myriad of prisms off the dew that has settled onto a million blades of grass).  

It is an ache for sound (you know that sound, the one of crickets and of leaves rustling in the wind carried through your bedroom window on a warm autumn night).  

It is an ache for touch (you know that touch, the one of a snowflake landing on your cheek).

It is an ache for taste (you know that taste, the taste of fresh Atlantic lobster, the taste of salt air at the beach, the taste of farm fresh vegetables, the taste of campsite grub).

It is an ache for laughter (you know that laughter, the one that is shared with those very few who have known you forever).

It is an ache for everything that I walked away from willingly, by choice.  It is an ache for everything that made me who I am today.  It is an ache for friends and family.  It is an ache for what once was.

Every once in a while ... I get that ache.  That aching, aching ache.  

And I wish I was home.

Driving home from the airport ... December 2011.

Driving home from the airport ... December 2011.