Parents leave. Kids leave. Friends leave. Everyone is in a constant state of transition. I understand that.
I’m still here. When I question why I am, I understand I could leave. I’ve been left. I supported those leaving because they were making a choice they believed to be better than where we are. I understand that.
It’s still very difficult for those left behind. I’m not willing to put my son through that difficulty that I know. It gets harder every time he goes, but I’m not willing to abandon him.
“I want my room kept the same way when I come home mom.”
“I want to have this house to come home to, mom.”
I get it. I didn’t have a place to “go home to” when my parents split. I can visit, but it’s not my home. It’s theirs.
I had to make my own home; a place to call home; a place of love and acceptance and I did. He has a place to come home to. I suppose I could’ve left and moved to Kansas City (which I loved); I guess I could have transferred to California a few years ago.
Even now, when my son is gone, I think of moving to Arizona to be near my mom, but I can’t yet. I’m home here in North Dakota. That’s where I was born and raised. That’s where my son is. Maybe he’ll leave eventually or tell me to go and be happy somewhere else. That day isn’t today.
As a North Dakotan, I’ve seen so many people leave. Family, friends, loved ones. Everyone leaves. I’m still here. I’m also not terribly excited about people that want to be friends, that tell me how they can’t wait to leave.
Sometimes, I look around and wonder, “where’s my stability? Where’s my security?” And then, I realize that I am the stability. I am the security.