Going Home

I'm packing today for a two week trip home to Pittsburgh. I can't remember the last time I was able to go home without the stress of a holiday or a wedding or some big family party hanging over us all. People keep asking me what I'm going to do while I'm home and my answer is...hopefully nothing! Go to the movies with my sister, Genevieve, who never complains about the amount of butter I like on my popcorn; take long walks with my mother, as summer starts to pale in Western Pennsylvania; spend as much time as possible with my brother Gregory and his kids; soak up all the advice I can from my sister-in-law, Alexis, who is a wonderful mother; talk books and music with my brother Matthew; run errands with my father, just happy to be with him. Take it easy, relax, read, cook, laugh, sleep, stretch, breathe in the city I miss more the older I get. It may not sound like much, but I think it's plenty. I will get precious few opportunities like this in my life...there is never enough time for just being...and so I'm stuffing my enormous, red suitcase (my father will have a fit) and leaving for the cross-country trek in the morning. It's not an easy trip for anyone...it involves between 2 to 3 stops to get from El Paso to Pittsburgh...and I'm sure it will be a real treat now that I'm pregnant. Massively swollen ankles here I come! But I know it's worth it. And anyone who's ever lived far away from a home they love knows what I'm talking about. The final descent through the skies over the 'Burgh always seems to take so long...the other passengers way too casual about getting off the plane. I can never get through the terminal fast enough...my luggage is always the last to flop onto the carousel (if it arrives at all, which has been a disturbing trend of late). I simply cannot wait to get to the curb outside and watch for my family. Tomorrow it will be my brother Gregory picking me up...as he has done so many times for more than a decade now. Through my various bad hairstyles, bad break ups, bad tempers, and bad hangovers. He is always there on time...Mr. Dependable...with a big hug, a pat on the back, and a joke about the weight of my bag. And with those formalities aside we'll then start the 20 minute or so car ride (that I feel sure I could really drive blindfolded) to "The House", my family's beautiful home base for 25 years. And we'll unload my bags in the driveway, animals - and the ghosts of animals gone - bounding around us. And family will filter out of the sliding glass doors; Genevieve galloping like a colt, hair flying behind her; Matthew's smile lighting his way as he pulls a hat onto his head; my father's shouting about the size/weight of whatever poor martyr of a suitcase I have dragged along announcing his presence. And surrounded by them all, we'll trip over cats up the path together, under the old trees I used to swing from, piling into the house so bright with warmth...and at last into the arms of my mother, who is waiting and smiling and looks and smells so much like home that I have to bite my tongue to believe I can really be there. I'll admit, it is getting harder to leave El Paso...I long for my husband while I'm gone - everything is better with him - and I miss my cats and our silly dog and the routine of the life we all share together. But for me, right now, "home" is still in Pittsburgh. And I know as I get older, and raise children, and plant roots in whatever city we end up in, that feeling will fade, like the summer. But for now, I still feel the pull North...the ache for the rivers and hills and train tracks that will lead me to them all...to the people who make me whole. To my home.