Going home means different things to everyone. To the college student, it is crashing in their old room, being taken care of, having their laundry done by mom and chillin'. To a new parent it is bringing their newborn baby through the doors of their house, introducing him or her to their new life. To a person deployed with the military, it is running into the arms of their loved ones and resting their head on their own pillow at night.
Tomorrow I will go home after having been in Orlando for my grandmother's memorial. Life won't be quite the same having lost a loved one. When I walk in my door, it will be different. Friday evening, my grandmother came home in the arms of her husband, my sad but strong grandfather. We celebrated her life, listened to her loved ones recall sweet, funny and extremely special times that she gave to us, laughed, cried and accepted. Once it was over, my grandfather took her in his arms and carried her out of the chapel and home for good. But really she went home a week ago tonight. Home is different to each of us. To some, it is crossing the threshold and being in the familiar surroundings in which they have shared their lives. For others, it is finding their eternal home in heaven. Fortunately, now, Grandma has done both and is really, really home.
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