By: Melissa Wrubel
Originally Published on May 16th, 2017
I have moved too many times. I can say that now because I know what it is like to move “too many times.” The moving truck, the boxes, the tape, the permanent markers, the bubble wrap, the extra items that won’t fit in the moving truck, taking-multiple-trips-in-vehicles-moving-the-extra-items-that-won’t-fit-in-the-moving-truck, the cost, the manpower, the stress on the body, the tear-down, the set-up. Needless to say, I am a bit over this moving thing! I have moved 19 times in my life … relatively in the same area, but STILL! My dad was a realtor, and growing up in Old Farm Subdivision was a great place to raise kids. He would find good deals, and home shopping was his passion … so that’s what I grew up with. In fact, one year we moved into the house next door! The house was a good deal with more square footage, so we huddled together the neighbor kids and used wagons to haul our stuff back and forth. That was my 4th move, and I was in 4th grade. My first move was from Florida to Port Huron. We lived in a house on Beard Street, and then built one of the first homes in Old Farms. I lived in 4 houses in that neighborhood before leaving the subdivision. It’s funny because I don’t feel any negativity about moving as a kid. No matter where my family was, that’s where I felt safe and secure. Although I would move many more times in my life, I will have to say that the definition of “home” never changed. After moving again not too long ago, I started to think more about that word. HOME.
Home. Hmm … where would I consider my “home” to be at this point? Is it my new place? Is it the place I just left? Is it my favorite residence to date? After thinking about that for a moment, I don’t think that I would call any of those “my home.” I don’t like that answer, to be honest. I want one home. I want to have one place where I “set-up shop.” I want to have a place that has my touch and the touch of my loved ones. My ideal home would have meaningful things on the walls and displayed on the shelves. There would be pictures of us and the memories we have shared together. The colors would be warm and inviting, and the fabrics would be soft and cozy. Our family dog would greet us when we arrive home, and snuggle up to us as we settle into bed at night. The aroma would be of baked apple pie and a fire in the fireplace. The sound of laundry going, and low sounds in the background of our favorite tunes, trumped by the laughter of interaction together, sharing our day’s events and our dreams with each other. Everyone would know that they’re loved, and would not be treated as if they were a burden. THAT is home to me.
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Now, to answer the question of “where is my home?” My home is where I am free to love, have my love received, and be loved back. I believe that the intricate details that go into the word “home” are summed up in that one statement. That statement has been my true definition of “home” since I was a little kid. Even though I never wrote it down, my heart knew. And if “Home is Where the Heart is,” then that’s all I need to know.