years before my grandpa died, he spoke often of his readiness to go home.
sometimes i became impatient with his talk of after this life because it made less sense to live less present in here and now.
older, i understood his homesick. to be so deeply rooted in relationship with his savior—- it must have felt like piece always missing. something he needed to get back to. a returning.
there is a country i love like that. a people i feel i belong to and homecoming i am waiting for and want to talk about.
that land and i have been stretched as far as twenty-some years and thousands of miles can stretch love. but in the distance this island that birthed and raised my childhood feels like a part of me. that i am called to remember and reach for and go home to.
there are ones who see my homesick and quietly pull theirs out from pockets and purses and drawers. ones who fell in love the same. ones who saved every scrap of png they had in hand and hold to certain their return is as close as someday.
in the end i listened willingly when my grandpa wanted to talk of heaven and his home going. this was never love long distance.
for him god was as close as own breath.
and homesick for heaven’s never been there—-as real as each today.