The Dreamer's Pen

Home. It’s a word that holds so much meaning. For years, I thought it was simply a place like the house I grew up in, the rooms that felt familiar, the roof that kept everything out. I thought it was a fixed thing, a physical space that defined where I belonged.

But over time, I’ve realized home is so much more than that. It’s not just where we hang our coats or sit down for a meal. It’s something that shifts, changes, and grows with us. Home is a feeling, a place we find within ourselves, a comfort that we create in the spaces we inhabit. It’s a concept, not just a building.

I’ll never forget the day my mom passed away. The shock of it, the suddenness, it turned everything upside down. One moment, she was here, always steady and present, and just like that, she was gone. There was no preparation, no warning. It was as if the ground disappeared beneath my feet, leaving me unmoored. I wasn’t ready. None of us were.

Her death didn’t just leave me with grief, it left me lost. The world I knew, the structure I had grown up with, was shattered. I didn’t know how to move forward, how to live in a world where she wasn’t there. I didn’t know what to do with the space she used to fill. It felt like the walls of the house we shared were hollow, as if the place where I’d always found comfort had lost its warmth. It was still the same house, but it wasn’t home anymore. Without her, the air felt different, heavy, and cold.

For a while, I was numb. I went through the motions, doing the things I had to do, but never fully engaging. I would sit in the house, the same house I’d lived in for years, but it felt foreign. The rooms that once echoed with her voice and laughter were silent. The smell of her cooking was gone. The presence of her warmth, her love, it wasn’t there and it was painful. I was surrounded by reminders of the past, but it wasn’t enough to make me feel whole.

But slowly, something changed. The numbness started to lift. And as the months passed, I began to understand something new about home. I realized that home isn’t just a physical space, it’s something that comes from within us. It’s not something you can always touch or see. It’s how you feel when you sit alone with your thoughts, how you find moments of peace in the chaos, how you discover new ways to ground yourself when everything else feels uncertain.

My mom’s death was devastating, but in the stillness that followed, I found an unexpected lesson. I learned that home isn’t something that’s tied to a place or a person—it’s something that you carry with you. It’s in how you choose to live, to heal, to move forward. It’s in the small, quiet moments when you make peace with yourself.

The days were long, and the pain was deep, but slowly, I started to rebuild. I started carving out spaces in my life where I could be with myself, where I could find comfort in the stillness. I found home in the simple things like quiet mornings with my dog, moments of reflection, walking in nature, sitting alone with my thoughts. These small acts began to fill the empty space she left behind, and I realized that home is not just a place you’ve left, it’s a place you carry inside you.

I had to find home within myself. I had to create a sense of belonging, a sense of peace, without depending on anyone else to give it to me. It’s been a journey, but I’ve learned that home is not a fixed thing. It’s not defined by the walls around you or the people who are in your life—it’s defined by how you feel, how you show up for yourself, and how you move through the world.

Even now, I miss her every single day. There’s not a moment that goes by when I don’t wish she were here to tell me everything’s going to be okay. But in the absence of that, I’ve found a deeper connection to myself. I’ve found a way to hold onto the love and lessons she gave me, and I’ve learned to keep creating home within me. It’s not always easy, but it’s a place I can always return to.

Home is not a destination. It’s a feeling. It’s something you find within yourself, even in the absence of everything you thought would always be there. It’s the space where you can be vulnerable, where you can find your strength, and where you can hold the love that has shaped you into who you are.

Home, I’ve come to realize, is something I carry with me. And even though I’ll never have the same home I once had, I’ve learned that home is always within me—it’s always something I can build, something I can find, even in the most unexpected places.