Finding home

I have spent the last 5 days at my mother's house in the town where I grew up. Though I was born and raised here, and every memory of my childhood stems from here, I cannot call this place home. Without veering off on a very complicated and painful explanation, I will just say briefly that the house I grew up in is now occupied by my brother along with his wife and their two children. After my father died, everything else in my life began to fall apart. My family, my home, my health. My mother now lives across the street in my grandmother's old house that is also falling apart. All in all, this land is the closest thing to home that I have, but it isn't home anymore.

Though it hurts me very much to visit this place, seeing my family feels good. We are not as close as we were before my father died, but we are closer than we have been in a long time. Everything is not perfect, but I am content in knowing the past is behind us. Hopefully the future will bring good things.

Since I am leaving tomorrow, I had a long talk with my mother tonight about my eating disorder, a topic that, until now, she was never able to address or acknowledge. When I was sick she was fully aware of it. She just didn't know how to help. She didn't force me into treatment. But she let me know that I had "issues." It took her a very long time to admit I was actually anorexic. It was like if she didn't say it out loud then it wouldn't be true. Back then I thought she was embarrassed to have an anorexic daughter, but I see now that she was just scared. Tonight when I was trying on old clothes that I had up in the attic for the last 2 years (since I've lived on the west coast) she told me how scared she had been all that time I was sick. She told me she expected to come home and find me dead at any moment. Honestly, towards the end, I expected the same thing. She told me how hard she had prayed for years and is still praying for me to have a full and complete recovery. She told me she thinks God heard her prayers. I think so too.

It means a lot to hear this from my mother, not because I wanted to hear her finally admit how sick I was, but because it was nice hearing how glad she is that I'm not that sick anymore. Whether she expresses it vocally or not, my mother has always understood me better than almost anyone.

I am very thankful for that.