I originally wrote this on December 11, 2011, as I was traveling back to Missouri for the holidays.

I would like to share some random thoughts, recollections, and questions I had as I find myself home for the holidays. Take it for what you will.

Home.

What constitutes home for people? Why do the things that we call “home” get labeled as such? Are our homes those places where we were born? Are our homes those places where we were raised? Or, are our homes those places where our families and friends congregate?

It seems to me that the answers to these questions for many, at various times, would be a simple yes, yes, and yes. Yes, the places where we were born, the places where we were raised, and those places where our families and friends congregate naturally fit within the category of “home.” These are those places we probably think about when we are away on a trip, or a military deployment, or have grown-up and moved away from. They are the places we get home-sick for. These are those places, along with the people who are in those places, that we return to for the holidays, and they are the place where our hearts may lie. After all, the old adage says: “Home is where the heart is.” Therefore, these places of birth, up-bringing, and family, more often than not, clearly deserve the title of “home.”

As I write this, it is three days before Christmas and I am sitting on the couch with my closest cousin, Sallie Davidson, at her home in Liberty, Missouri. Sallie and I are the same age, and in spite of the fact that we have often allowed long periods of time go in between our times together over the years, we seem to pick-up right where we left off. For Sallie, her husband, Stephen, and their two beautiful pajama-wearing children, Brayden and Brooklynn, respectively one and three years old, this cozy little three bedroom house is “home.” And for me over Christmas week, this will also be my home. It feels like home. It has all the sights and sounds of home: there is a decorated Christmas tree in the living room. Cam, the 11 year-old dog is asleep on the rug. There is a coffee pot on the counter (which Sallie did have to pull out specifically for me) and the smell of coffee in the air. The weather outside is indicative of winter, cold and clear, and there is a slew of leafless trees in the sleepy little neighborhood. There is the promise of family gathering, and there isn’t much on my plate by way of responsibility, other than playing with Brayden and Booklynn. This is Christmas vacation and Sallie’s house, along with other various other family member’s houses, will be home. It’s just for this reason why I returned to Missouri for the holidays– the feeling of home. I haven’t lived in this state for over 20 years, but I am always welcomed with open arms. In fact, I just spent the last week in the home of Rob and Sherry Shinn, cousins that I haven’t seen in 20 years, but I was treated like I hadn’t been gone more than a day. All this and more is for me home. In fact, all this and more, makes me want to move back to this state.

But, to return to the notion of “home,” what happens if we don’t have families to return to? What happens if the Sherry Shinns and the Sallie Davidsons don’t exist for someone? While I do have some great family here in Missouri (and in California), and in spite of the fact that I have more than enjoyed the feeling of home with them, I am also very familiar with the feeling of homelessness, both literally and metaphorically. And just to reiterate, when I say “homelessness” I am using a double entendre and referring to both the literal loss of home, but also the sense that “something is missing” because of the loss of someone or something. I am familiar with the feelings of homelessness because of some of my own life’s travels and traumas. For instance, the fact I currently live and work, most of the time, on a U.S. Naval vessel and have no permanent U.S. residence creates in me a sense that something is missing. When all other sailors look forward to going home, I don’t have a home to return to. What’s worse, I lost my father to Hodgkin’s Lymphoma when I was seven years old. Thus, that fatherly aspect of home for me was forever lost. I also lost the love of my life to a painful and unfortunate divorce. Again, another important aspect of my home-life was lost. Additionally, I have lost many other friends and family to death, drugs, divorce, and other unfortunate social destructions. All of these people, and the places where they were found, made up so many important components of my sense of home, and so many of those irreplaceable components are forever lost. Therefore, when I sit next to the Christmas tree in a place that feels like home, I must also consider those people who aren’t here to share it with me, and I with them. As a result, I often thank God for what is and ask for strength to deal with what isn’t.

So, I ask again, what happens if one doesn’t have a family to return to? What happens when individuals have aspects of home that are gone? Or, what happens if we don’t know where we were born, or we don’t have a home that houses our memories of growing up? What happens if we don’t have families? Or our friends are scattered? What happens when home is difficult to locate because of some form of personal transience or life traumas? What happens to the psyche of a person that can not, like the majority, go home? What happens when home feels like a place long forgotten, forever lost, or simply never known? What happens to an individual that does not have “home”? Consider the example of the homeless who wander the streets of our cities. Consider the soldier that returns to a village decimated by war. Consider the orphan that doesn’t have an adoptive family. Consider the spouse that has outlived his or her love. Consider the elderly that have outlived so much and so many. Is that sense of loss, that lacking a home, the deepest kind of pain?

It seems to me that if an individual can not find, return, or retrieve that place and/or those people that was once labeled home, then that person has the hardest burden to bear in this world.

Imagine if we could not return home. Imagine if we did not have a home to return to. Imagine if you could not sit next to a beloved family member with a Christmas tree and the smell of coffee in the air? Imagine if the promise of family did not await. Imagine if you didn’t even have a home that was capable of being lost. Home is precious. And whatever and to whomever we ascribe such a sacred label, home is truly where the heart is. I suppose all we can ever truly do is thank God for what is and ask for strength to deal with what isn’t.

One last thought:

This Christmas, there are many people who will not find themselves in the place that they call “home.” Due to the economy, many have lost their homes. Due to the war, soldiers and sailors are still in the line of fire. Due to the trials and tribulations of life, many will experience their first Christmas without someone they love. In spite of all this, and maybe as a result of all this, I know I am truly grateful to be “home” for the holidays.