Vanished

Bitter and sweet. Sweet and bitter. I have found my self around family a lot. So many beautiful people, stories, and roots. It's amazing really. They are mine and I am theirs. That is beautiful. So why do I feel so bittersweet at times? Is it the realness and the truth in our mixed stories? Is it some of the thoughts I have that I can't even say out loud about the home that was but then disappeared? Or the pain behind the reason for the home that vanished? I drove past one of the house's I lived in as a child, it had been bulldozed, like it never existed. It was a real life visual of my feelings. I thought to myself "Was it real? Did that life happen?" It must have, I guess. The other night I got to spend time with some of my female relatives. There is something perfect about being together eating and creating. We cooed over the darling baby boy and cooed at the stout dog. On my drive home I felt sweet and bitter. Crazy how they go together some days. Home provided a refuge for me. Hugs and a cold drink of water, followed by a steaming bath. I curled in my bed. My thoughts started to get softer and fuzzy. Though I may never fully heal from my vanished home, I will always have a home that I created inside me to keep me safe on these bittersweet days.