I Finally Found My Way Home

Home. As the years pass, I find it more difficult to define this word. Webster defines home as: "One's place of residence," "the social unit formed by a family living together," or "a familiar or usual setting." I find it hard to define "home" in those terms. Some days I have a hard time defining it at all. I grew up in Tallahassee, Fla. I met and married my husband in Alabama. During our almost 13 years of marriage, we've resided in four states, eight towns and 10 different homes... all compliments of the United States Marine Corps. We have not lived in the same town as either of our sets of parents for 12 years. Our siblings (most of them also military or spouses) reside in three different states, each one apart from our parents and all other siblings. As a family, we do our best to make sure our kids have meaningful relationships with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins... but it's a challenge. Last summer, we embarked on our biggest PCS (Permanent Change of Station) move yet: from Cherry Point, NC to Fort Huachuca, AZ. Prior to this move, both my husband and I spent the entirety of our lives in the south and all of our marriage within 30 minutes of the coast. Moving out west has been quite an adjustment for our entire family (except, of course, for the new baby who doesn't know that there are actually places in this world where your skin becomes moist the moment you step outside). We've met some incredible people, made wonderful friends and visited places we have never been before. But even after a year, our family is having a very hard time calling AZ "home." When we made our PCS move last year, we also started planning our summer vacation for 2012... a trip back to eastern North Carolina. I really believe it helped my older daughter, age 10, accept the move. She knew that in 11 months we'd be returning to the area to visit her friends, eat at her favorite restaurant and dip our toes in the water of the Atlantic Ocean. We all looked forward to our visit throughout the year, and despite our surprise pregnancy and new addition to the family, we saved our pennies and made the 12 day trip to North Carolina a priority. As I write this piece, I'm sitting on the balcony of our beach house on the last night of our stay on the coast. The air is moist, but there is a wonderful breeze blowing through my hair. I can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore line. I can smell the salt, and almost feel the pulse of the ocean as the tide ebbs and flows. I cannot imagine that there is a more peaceful place on the planet. But my heart is heavy because in the morning we will pack our bags and say goodbye to the Atlantic Ocean until next year, when hopefully, we will return. We will get on a plane that will take us "home," back to Arizona, our "place of residence." Nothing about that seems right to me. I firmly believe that when faced with a PCS move, it is up to the individual to make your new duty station enjoyable for as long as you are stationed there. I just see no point in moping around the house for three or four years because you're living in a place that is less than desirable to you. There is always something to do, something of interest, and a cool experience to have... no matter where the military moves you. But it is up to YOU to seek that out. We honestly embraced our move to Arizona with the attitude that we were going to enjoy the adventure. That, no matter what, we were grateful to have three years with no deployments, and would gladly agree to live anywhere, as long as my husband was coming home every night. I still believe this to be true and do not regret the decision to request orders there. But I didn't realize how homesick I was until we came back to the last place we called "home." I knew that I missed the ocean. I knew that I missed real sweet tea and any form of humidity in the air. And I definitely knew that I missed the wonderful people. I did not, however, expect to miss the feel of Eastern NC. It became clear when we arrived at Camp Lejeune. We are currently stationed on an Army post as part of a small detachment of Marines there. We have had nothing but great experiences and have been welcomed into the Army family with open arms. But it just feels different. When we passed through the gates and my husband greeted the MP with "Good afternoon, Marine," I could feel a sense of pride. As we arrived at the beach house and stepped out onto the balcony for the first time, I could feel the beauty of the view that was in front of me. When we visited Cherry Point, I could feel the sound of freedom as the helicopters flew overhead. When I hugged the necks of long time friends, I could feel the memories we had created. We were blessed to have our parents join us for this vacation, and I know that added to the feeling of "home." As more distance is put between us, it's even more challenging to spend long periods of time with our parents and to have the opportunity for our girls to enjoy quality time with them. On our first night, we got a call that my husband's father (in Alabama) had passed away. Even though we were aware he was not in great health, the gravity of losing a parent was a shock. With my mom and dad, his mother and stepfather all sharing vacation time with us, we were suddenly hit with the reality that life is moving on, parents are getting older, roles are changing. I felt a sense of desperation to grab a hold of family and "home." But where IS "home" for this military family? Is "home" the place I grew up, or the place my husband was raised? Is "home" the first house we lived in as a married couple, or the last place movers delivered our household goods? Is "home" the town where our first daughter was born, or the place we just gave birth to our new baby girl? Is "home" where our blood relatives reside, or where our extensive military family lays their head at night? What I realized this week is that "home" is a collection of all of those places. And it has little to do with the roof over your head or an address on a map. As Webster states, "home" is a "place of residence"... we have a collection of over 10 homes, not including where we each grew up. It is also a "social unit formed by a family living together"... we have family in more places we can count, because in addition to our traditional family, we have a large military family with whom we have certainly formed a social unit over the years. Lastly, it's "a familiar or usual setting"... we have a wealth of memories and experiences that have now become so familiar and usual, that they create in us the feeling of "home." Perhaps Webster is on to something after all. I am certain than in two years, when the movers come to pack up all of our belongings, we will be sad to leave Arizona because our military family will have become larger, and there will be things that by then are familiar and usual to us. We do not yet know where our next place of residence will be, but it really doesn't matter. Because what I figured out this vacation was that no matter how you define it, if you are lucky, "home" is simply too big to fit in any box.. And if you are really lucky... it does fit nicely, right inside your heart.

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