Yesterday we left home to travel east to visit our families. It was the first trip we have made to "home" without Art.
I remember how I hated letting Art drive in bad weather cause I just didn’t think he was paying close enough attention.
I remember driving these roads with two dogs, two bikes and other young couple accoutrements that made us feel cooler and hipper than we undoubtedly were.
I remembered driving these roads with hope in my uterus and fury at any reckless driver.
I remember driving these roads with one baby, a pack-n-play, stroller, babyswing, sling, Baby Bjorn, 17 outfits for 3 days, breast pump, two dogs and no bikes. And the same amount of fury at reckless drivers.
I remember driving these roads with screaming babies, poop on my hands, vomit in my hair and
laughter on my breath. Did this really happen all in one trip?
I remember driving these roads with his large hand resting on my thigh, awed that this was my life.
I remember driving these roads not sure if it was a life I wanted.
I came home today.
Home is the place where my life with Art began, where we met, where we began our family, where our hopes, ideas and beliefs about marriage, parenting, love, family and community took form.
And while I drove, in the rain, listening to all the music he downloaded. I laughed. I sighed. I wondered "Is he really gone?"
"Yes" the heaviness tells me.
Being here feels complete. I needed to come back where we began and drive these roads. From this home place I see clearly what a great husband he was. What a powerful father he will always be. What an unbelievable partner he will remain.
And I had him.
He asked ME to marry him, here in this state. This home.
Holly shit....I am so damn lucky to have him! Being home is indeed sweet.