There is a scene at the end of Away We Go in which I cry every single time I watch it. Like last night. I balled like a baby. I think my eyes are still puffy today. They will probably remain puffy into next week.
I have always cried at this scene, but maybe now I cry a little bit harder. I cry because I am lonesome for my farm and I want to go home. To a place I have never owned.
I have to confess I feel a little silly about that. I feel slightly ridiculous that I have such a strong connection to a place. Especially one I have only visited half a dozen times. But when I think of being home, it is what I see and feel. It is the only place I want to go.
So we are waiting. And living. Sometimes the pendulum swings to contentment right where we are and I go days without dwelling on the situation. I am happy. I am floating, breathing, cooking, laughing. And then something pricks the surface just the tiniest bit and within seconds I realize that I do not have enough thumbs to plug all the holes that suddenly appear in the wall between my longing and my contentment. Desire and wishing and hope and discouragement flood in and wash over me. And then there I am. Soaked to the bone. Eventually I will dry out and go back to floating and breathing, cooking and laughing. But I know better than to think I will stay dry for long.