As the end of my reservation approached, I began thinking about home.<\/p>\n
I missed my house.<\/p>\n
I missed Joanna.<\/p>\n
I missed the grandchildren.<\/p>\n
I missed familiar streets.<\/p>\n
I missed the sound of my own kitchen.<\/p>\n
But I also knew that I had changed.<\/p>\n
I had spent eight weeks making decisions for myself.<\/p>\n
I had spent eight weeks waking up without a list of things other people needed me to do.<\/p>\n
I had spent eight weeks discovering that I enjoyed painting.<\/p>\n
I had spent eight weeks learning that I could travel alone.<\/p>\n
I had spent eight weeks being a person outside my family.<\/p>\n
That was something I didn't want to lose.<\/p>\n
I considered staying longer.<\/p>\n
The thought surprised me.<\/p>\n
I had originally planned to return after eight weeks.<\/p>\n
I had booked the flight.<\/p>\n
I had arranged for Ellen to collect my mail.<\/p>\n
I had told everyone when I would be home.<\/p>\n
But now I wondered whether I needed to rush back.<\/p>\n
I looked around the little house.<\/p>\n
The blue shutters.<\/p>\n
The courtyard.<\/p>\n
The terracotta pots.<\/p>\n
The little table where I had painted.<\/p>\n
I had become attached to the place.<\/p>\n
I had become attached to the life I had built there.<\/p>\n
But I also knew that I wanted to see my family.<\/p>\n
I wanted to hug the grandchildren.<\/p>\n
I wanted to sit at my own kitchen table.<\/p>\n
I wanted to sleep in my own bed.<\/p>\n
The important difference was that I no longer felt that returning home meant giving up my freedom.<\/p>\n
I could go home and still make choices for myself.<\/p>\n
I could love my family without being permanently available.<\/p>\n
I could help when I wanted to help.<\/p>\n
I could say no when I needed to say no.<\/p>\n
That was what I had learned.<\/p>\n
I packed my suitcase.<\/p>\n
I folded my clothes.<\/p>\n
I wrapped the little gifts I had bought.<\/p>\n
I packed the watercolors.<\/p>\n
I packed the journal.<\/p>\n
I packed Leonard's old gray sweater.<\/p>\n
I looked around the house one last time.<\/p>\n
I thought about the first morning I had walked to the bakery.<\/p>\n
I had been nervous.<\/p>\n
I had felt out of place.<\/p>\n
I had wondered whether I would enjoy spending so much time alone.<\/p>\n
Now I knew that I could.<\/p>\n
I closed the suitcase.<\/p>\n
I stood beside the window.<\/p>\n
The street was quiet.<\/p>\n
I could hear footsteps outside.<\/p>\n
Someone was speaking.<\/p>\n
A door opened.<\/p>\n
Then closed.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
I would miss the little house.<\/p>\n
But I was ready to go home.<\/p>\n
The journey back was long.<\/p>\n
By the time I reached the airport, I was tired.<\/p>\n
I had spent the flight thinking about everything that had happened.<\/p>\n
I had thought about Thanksgiving.<\/p>\n
I had thought about the phone calls.<\/p>\n
I had thought about the first Christmas I had spent away from home.<\/p>\n
I had thought about Derek's apology.<\/p>\n
I had thought about Cassandra's message.<\/p>\n
I had thought about the little painting I had made.<\/p>\n
I had thought about the life I wanted to live when I returned.<\/p>\n
When I finally arrived, Joanna was waiting for me.<\/p>\n
She waved as soon as she saw me.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
She hugged me.<\/p>\n
Then she stepped back and looked at me.<\/p>\n
"You look different."<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
"Older?"<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
"Relaxed."<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
I hadn't thought about it that way.<\/p>\n
But she was right.<\/p>\n
I felt relaxed.<\/p>\n
I felt rested.<\/p>\n
I felt like myself again.<\/p>\n
During the drive home, I told her about the bakery.<\/p>\n
I told her about the painting lessons.<\/p>\n
I told her about the courtyard.<\/p>\n
I told her about the people I had met.<\/p>\n
She listened.<\/p>\n
She asked questions.<\/p>\n
She laughed at the story about my first watercolor.<\/p>\n
When I mentioned that I might take another trip, she smiled.<\/p>\n
"You should start planning before someone asks you to babysit a sofa."<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
I knew exactly what she meant.<\/p>\n
We drove the rest of the way home.<\/p>\n
I looked out the window.<\/p>\n
The roads were familiar.<\/p>\n
The trees were familiar.<\/p>\n
The houses were familiar.<\/p>\n
I felt happy to be back.<\/p>\n
But I also felt different.<\/p>\n
I had spent years believing that my life belonged to my family.<\/p>\n
Now I knew that it belonged to me too.<\/p>\n
Source: lessoninlife.net<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n As the end of my reservation approached, I began thinking about home. I missed my house. I missed Joanna. I missed the grandchildren. I missed familiar streets. I missed the … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10835,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10842","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-sharestory"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10842","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10842"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10842\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10855,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10842\/revisions\/10855"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10835"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10842"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10842"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10842"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nClick here to continue reading: PART 8: My First Dinner Back at My Son’s House Was Nothing Like Thanksgiving, and I Began to Believe Our Family Could Learn a Different Way<\/a><\/strong><\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"