Home is Where the Heart Is

 
   When my Aunt passed a huge part of my heart was buried with her.  Home is usually described as a place but she was home to me. She is what was familiar. She accepted me for who I was but would be happy to tell me if who I was didn't line up with who I should be. She didn't tell me she loved me ever but she showed me in every way possible.

  As I go through life, I miss her. I miss that feeling of belonging. Don't get me wrong, there are people that love me but her love was different.  I miss the Saturday outings and getting fussed at because I can be a bit much at times. It's amazing that you would miss being rebuked but I really do. It's the way that she said my name and although I knew I was about to get it, it made me smile. I could go on and on but I won't. I'm thankful that I got to have her in my life and there are certain aspects of her character that I choose to embody.
    We have been in our house for over a year and a half now and I'm still striving to make it feel the way that she made me feel. I want people to walk in and feel as if they belong and are accepted.  I want our house to be an extension of the hearts of the people that reside in it. We don't need you to pretend to be anything that you aren't, we'll just love you for who you are and right where you are. At the end of the day, everyone should have a sense of belonging. Everyone should have someone or something that they can call home.