In returning to Ancaster, Ontario, so that I could assist Dad with anything related to packing up his belongings for his major relocation to Moncton, New Brunswick, I have been thinking about the word “home”.
Some “home”-related thoughts—
- Home is where your heart is.
- Home is the place where you hang your hat.
- A home is not defined by its structure but by the people who fill it.
- Home is the place you sleep.
- Home is where you’re secure.
- Home is where you’re happy.
- Home is a place of love and comfort.
- Home means sanctuary.
Somehow, they all apply (though some more so than others). My heart is in Ancaster because of the years I lived there, grew to be an adult there, where my mother is buried. I now hang my hat in Victoria. My heart is also with Vince. Does that make him “home”? And as for sleeping, I sleep on planes, on trains and in hotels. Are each of those places “home”? I could go on, but you get my point.
Defining ‘home’ has been an interesting journey. About the only conclusion I can reach is that home just isn’t a place, but a feeling as well.
I will always call Ancaster home because of my memories and my past. Victoria is my home because it is the location where I live. I will always refer to both locations as home.
And so, to answer the question I posed a week ago, “can you go home again?” The answer is yes. Physically things have changed as only time can affect things – many new subdivisions and shopping centres/stores, moving of the fairgrounds, restaurants have come and gone, etc. What did not change were the people and the memories.
It wasn’t a ‘good bye’ as I thought it would be, but more like, ‘I’ll see you again one day’. I don’t know when that will be, but I do know it will happen.