Grandma Smith. Grandma Chamness. Aunt Katie and Uncle Lloyd. Uncle Lyle. Daddy.
These are the people whose spirits are always somewhere in the back of my consciousness. They are the ones who loved me unconditionally, and had hopes for me. I, and the children born to the family in my generation were at one time The Hope of the Future. In the days approaching a trip home, their spirits solidify in my mind and memories, and become more real. As I near Home, they are a welcoming committee, watching me cross the threshold into southern Illinois. And when I am Home, I miss them more than ever, because when I arrive, their places are empty.
Now there is Mom, and a couple of cousins. We often remember the others and miss them together. I am who I am, because they helped me start my life. And I hope that I can live it in a way that would have made them proud.
Sometimes I have a sense of them as the "cloud of witnesses" - that they see me from afar. And I hope they are proud of the woman I have become.
I'm always shocked at the way things have changed, as in my mind I remember the Zeigler/Carbondale/whatever of yesterday.
I'm always pleasantly surprised by the persisting love and bonds that still exist between myself and those I love.
I feel sorry for people who have never had a real "home" that they can come back to.
