“There鈥檚 no place like home.鈥澛�
Everyone I know is talking about the new 鈥淲icked鈥� movie, based on 鈥淭he Wizard of Oz,鈥� a story famously oriented around the protagonist鈥檚 journey home from a different fantastical world. As we find ourselves in the midst of the holiday season, people across the country will return to their childhood homes for family dinners and gift exchanges. Home seems to be on many people鈥檚 minds as 2024 comes to a close.聽
On a more personal note, my grandmother has recently found herself away from her home after a medical emergency. From the hospital, to rehab, to likely a nursing home, she will never find herself back in the house she lived in for over 50 years. With this change has come the quick onset of worsening dementia. What used to be a hint here and there, like personifying her cane, has turned into anger and delusion. One minute she thinks I鈥檓 engaged and the next she鈥檚 accusing my father of coming into our lives to steal her house, not realizing he鈥檚 been married to my mother for 27 years.聽
Even in the midst of her deterioration, my 92-year-old grandmother cannot let go of the fact that she wants to go back home, insisting that she can live independently. The truth is that my mother has been working every day for years to let her keep living in that house. The truth is that if my grandmother had agreed to go to an assisted living facility when we first suggested it, she wouldn鈥檛 be finding herself in the situation she鈥檚 in now 鈥� blind and deaf and confused, but certain that it鈥檚 everyone else’s fault. The idea of staying in her house was enough to keep her staunchly defiant of our suggestions for years, and now, away from home, this disconnect has led to a rapid crumbling of sanity.聽
So what makes home so important to us? Is it as simple as our address? Is home where we grew up? Or perhaps it鈥檚 more abstract 鈥� the people we love rather than four walls. And no matter what it is, if home is truly so valuable, how do we get there? We don鈥檛 all get ruby slippers, after all.聽
First off, we cannot figure out how to get home if we don鈥檛 know what it is. That may be simpler than it sounds, if only because I鈥檓 going to be extremely and conveniently vague.聽
Home is whatever we decide. Now, before you roll your eyes at my platitude, hear me out. I know people who feel safest in their childhood bedroom, and many more who don鈥檛 feel like their true selves anywhere near their hometown. And what do we say to military brats who have lived in eight different cities before puberty? Which one counts as their real home? I have felt home in the embrace of my mother and in the laughs of people I don鈥檛 talk to anymore.聽
Briefly, home was my high school鈥檚 fine arts theater that I spent hours in for rehearsals. Home sounds like crashing waves on my favorite beach, and I will always have some version of home wherever my parents are. I will be home when I meet up with friends I haven鈥檛 seen in months and I will be home walking into my kitchen to my roommate making ravioli in an impossibly small pot. I will be home where I love and am loved.
You would think with this perspective that I always feel at home. Why even bother finding it? On the contrary, this impermanence of home drives me wild.聽
College was always a terrifying concept to me. I couldn鈥檛 imagine leaving the place I鈥檇 always known. And I didn鈥檛, really. I chose to go to school only 30 minutes away from the house I grew up in. In my freshman year, I went home basically every other weekend, but looking back on it, I regret the things I missed out on 鈥� shows I didn鈥檛 get to be part of and hangouts I wasn鈥檛 invited to. Because I missed my home so much, I wasn鈥檛 able to build a new one. I was too busy feeling torn in two.聽
My homes have moved away from me, have decayed into nothing, have been carted off in pieces, have deleted me from their photos. The part of me that was at home in my grandmother鈥檚 living room, eating ice cream and watching old movies, will never go home again. My grandma didn鈥檛 realize that whether she was in a white brick three bedroom or a one-room apartment with other old people, she still would鈥檝e been home, because she still would鈥檝e had my mother and father and sister and me. We鈥檙e her only real home left. Instead, she鈥檚 become twisted by anger and confusion, years of buried resentments and self-made narratives.聽
The only way to truly get home is to accept it will always be changing. It is certainly not a building. Or, maybe, it is all of them. It is everywhere we have ever belonged and ever will, and we can only feel that belonging if we let go of what ties us to the past. We can鈥檛 let fear and stubbornness drown us. Know that if we lose one home, we will find another. There will still be laughter and love and peace.聽
With all of this in mind, I am watching my sister hug my grandmother goodbye, and there is lucidity for a moment. My grandmother says, through jumbled words, 鈥淩emember who loves you?鈥� It鈥檚 our traditional call and response, has been for as long as I can remember. My sister dutifully replies 鈥淵ou,鈥� and my grandmother smiles. 鈥淲e used to have such fun, y鈥檏now? We鈥檇 play games?鈥� Her wrinkled face is shining for a moment, remembering stuffed animal doctors and checkers tournaments with us on rainy days. She has found a way home, if only briefly.聽
It鈥檚 never been magic shoes or a GPS. It was always love.
