What Is Home?

“Grandmama, what is home?” A young, particularly small girl is playing with her doll, brushing its pigtails. Her big, green eyes twinkle, and her smile lights up the room, and her almond brown hair matches her skin, with freckles spotted across her cheeks and nose. “What do you mean by that?” An older woman coos from her rocking chair, lying against white pillows, a diamond patterned quilt resting on her knees as she rocks back and forth, staring at her granddaughter adoringly. “Well…” replies the diminutive girl, her green eyes now exceedingly wide with an air of curious excitement. “I guess…what’s home to you, Grandmama?” “Well, dear, it’s not an easy question to answer, not if you want a simple answer.” “Well, nothing in life is ever too simple, right?” says the girl. “Ash, how do you understand everything so well at the age of four?” says Grandmama, smiling. “Well, I wrote this when I was younger, it may help.” Grandmama pulls out a piece of old paper, with a title at the top reading Home Is A Feeling. Ash frowns, her eyes reducing to slits: “But isn’t home a place?” Grandmama’s mouth crinkles into a smile. “That’s what most people think, but I don’t, and soon you may not.” Ash’s skepticism shows on her face, her forehead wrinkling into a frown. Grandmama starts to read: “Home is not a place or destination, but a feeling of happiness without trace of desperation. Yes, home puts trust in hearts, smiles on faces, with mothers and fathers who will tie your shoelaces. Scientists may test to figure this out, why home is a place where we have no doubt. This simple answer should hit the mark: Home is where you find your heart.” Ash looks at Grandmama, smiling. “So you’re my home.”