You Can Really Never Go Home...

 For the first time since moving, I went back last Tuesday.

And I realized, I can never really go home again.

When I say Farmington Utah was my hometown, that's exactly what it was. I was such a part of that community (and that community was such a part of me...), that I could not even consider me being a citizen of any other city. I saw homes be built, entire neighborhoods rose from the ground, streets cleared, then paved, children grow to adulthood, and saw dozens of its citizens pass away, my parents included.

For fifty years, I was Farmington, and it was me.

But that's gone.

And it's never coming back.

The concept of "home" is tricky. During my grade school years, home was me, my brother, sister, and mom living on our street. After I got married and began a family of my own, we moved back to that street, eventually building a house I still love. When my mom passed away four years later, it was still home...

But, was it really?

Looking back, I don't think so. I think once my mom died, it was my home, my family's home, but not the home that it used to be. If we sold our home and moved back--even moved back to the same street, the same house, it wouldn't be home tomorrow, it wouldn't be home--something's forever changed. Sure, we can return, but my mom can't. I'll never have that again, my siblings living together, under the same roof. No, home disappeared years ago. I was holding on to memories, to ghosts and calling it home.

It was a strange feeling standing in the parking lot of the Rock Hotel Dental building, looking up at the mountain I considered as much of my own as anyone's. And yet, there was no longer a claim, a feeling of ownership, of belonging. 

Since leaving, I wondered how I would feel when I came back. I'm not necessarily sad, or bitter, or regretful. I think the realization that it's never going to be the place it once was--for me--was the thing that surprised me the most. I'll always love that place, my childhood--then adult--memories of those streets, those homes, those incredible sunsets, the sounds of Lagoon in summer, even the howling winds, the mountain trails, and the smell of the lake when a storm blew in. That little town is part of my D.N.A...

It's just no longer "home."