I lost my hometown when I was 14. I never grieved that until I was in my late 20s. I went back for a funeral once, something told me I didn’t need to come back there anymore. In the last year I’ve connected with more people from my hometown in 29 years. Life is weird. I had a good realtor friend, he said people move back home to die, (he meant old people). They come back from Florida and Arizona. Life is a mystery.
Every time I go back to visit my family in Missouri, I feel an unsettling amount of guilt in my bones when I return to California. Every part of me wishes I hadn’t created this permanent fracture between us, separated by miles of mountains, plains, highways, and stars. It’s an inner-conflict I will probably never quite shake. Still, I know they are happy for me. I know they are proud of the woman I’ve become. I just miss them.
“I hate graveyards and old pawn shops
For they always bring me tears
I can’t forgive the way they rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs
Memories that can’t be boughten
Can’t be won at carnivals for free
Well, it took me years to get those souvenirs
And I don’t know how they slipped away from me”
-John Prine