Home

I need to go home. 

There is something that pulls at me. Something unknown, unseen, almost unfelt, builds inside me, getting stronger and stronger until I can't resist.

I need to go home.

I've lived away for over 16 years. I've a new home, family, friends, community. I've settled in, I think.

But then that something builds up until it overwhelms me and I have to go.

I never plan to go home. It's always a last minute thing,  a whim. It's time to go.

I get antsy, restless, unsettled. I need to go home.

Then I'm here.  I sit at a border crossing waiting with a slow bubble of excitement inside.

I'm home!

Finally something in me settles, eases. It's like a weight I've been carrying is set down. What a relief!

There is something comforting about recognizing the names of streets and towns and stores, the speed limit being in kilometres and the temperature being in Celsius. 

I see Canadian Tire and Tim Hortons. There is the Husky with a giant flag, an Esso station. Signs are in French and English.  So are cereal boxes.

Homo milk comes in bags.

No one ever makes comments about my accent or the way I say "been" (like a bean not like a bin.)

Everywhere I go there is my name on street signs.

The names of the towns are familiar and full of memories. I never get lost here. No matter where I go I'm never turned around. Unlike America where I still get lost after 16 years.

This will always be my home. I was born here, raised here.  My babies were born here.

I played here, loved here, cried here. This is where my roots are.

I cry when I leave.