Coming Home

I love the feeling of opening the door. Love the feeling of my dad and mom coming to hug me.The thing is, home doesn’t always mean a roof, a door, and four walls. Home to me means shared laughs, warm hugs, and family dinners. Not everyone knows how it feels to sleep with a full stomach, in the secure position of knowing that they own a place to stay, have access to clean water, and knowing that they can go outside without fear. People all around the world know so much about scarcity, not about hot meals, and safety. We can easily forget about what we have, but then we remind ourselves how fortunate we are! During the pandemic, my family and I were uncertain. We left our house in Roncesvalles, to head to our cottage. At the time, we were at a different school, and the education through covid was terrible, to the point where me and my brother’s parents had to teach us! I remember bringing up duffle bags of things up to the cottage every time we went home for a night, which happened about once every three months. But we persevered, and spent so much time together that it ended up being a great bonding experience! When the border to the U.S.A was open to Canadians for non-business reasons, we packed our bags again and ran for our car. We drove to Syracuse, the upstate New York town that was home to my grandparents, Uncle, Aunt, and three little cousins. I remember that as soon as we crossed the border and saw the flag, I cried with happiness. After so much isolation, it was incredible to have all my family together. To me, home is about the people, not the location.