Home is...

Eggshells in the sink
Dust on the mantle
Rain in the window
Backpacks on the floor

Mail on the table
Bills on the desk
Cookies on the counter
Milk in the door

Cracks in the paint
Splinters in the deck
Floorboards that creak
Faucets that leak

Skylights in the ceiling
Cats on the lawn
Clothes in the drawer
Fish in the pond

Pictures on the shelf
Cars in the driveway
Blankets on the couch
Sawdust in the garage

Tools on the bench
Thread in the needle
Laughter in the room
A feeling in the air

.….

Home doesn’t have to be a stunning multi-page spread from an interior design magazine. It can also be the little messes and tangible reminders that remind you that there are living, breathing people inside. Sure, the furniture and paint make everything look pretty but for a home to be beautiful there has to be love. This love can start with one person and spread to a second and a third as a family grows.

Our homes evolve with our lives. Sometimes they are full, sometimes they are empty. As I have grown up and lived on my own for several years I have sought to make my place in P-town “home.” It’s full of my own furniture, clothes, and souvenirs. While I love time by myself I must admit I am happiest when my place is full of friends. I am reminded that my friends are my family and, at least for now, this is home.

Running Home

This morning I was feeling really good about life. I completed a good number of errands on Wednesday night and I felt like I was almost completely ready for a weekend trip home to California. I decided to leave my suitcase in my room and then pick it up at lunchtime in case I remembered anything I had forgotten at home. I was on a tight schedule because I needed to leave work and head straight to the airport at 5:30 pm in time for my 7:30 pm flight.

Around 11:30 am I picked up the phone and ordered lunch at a restaurant across the street from my apartment. My plan to kill two birds with one stone was working out great. The weather was perfect and sunshine was streaming in through my car windows. I was even feeling rather patient with my fellow drivers. I decided to wait for an oncoming car to pass me before turning left into my apartment complex. As I waited in the two-way turn lane I saw a white object from the corner of my eye. A cat was running from the right side of the road toward my apartment complex on the left side of the road. I immediately recognized it as a very friendly cat who occasionally roams our parking garage. In the same moment I recognized him I noticed that he was sprinting to stay out of the way of a car that was slowing down for him. I posed no threat to him since I was stopped in the middle of the road. My eyes followed his intended path and I realized he was on a collision course with the oncoming BMW coupe. I knew what I was about to see and I had a choice: wave my hands desperately in an effort to get the BMW to stop or hold my hands in front of my eyes. I chose the latter.

I heard the car approaching (it appeared to be traveling at the 50 mph speed limit) and then a tiny thud. Filled with dread I opened my eyes and looked left but didn't see anything. For a moment I thought the cat had made it. Then I turned and looked behind me and saw the poor creature lying still in the road. The BMW was long gone.

I hurriedly pulled into my complex's parking lot and got out of the car. I didn't know what to do next. I remembered a story that someone told me about seeing a dead deer in the canyon getting run over repeatedly. He pulled over and dragged the animal to the side of the road. I knew that was the right thing to do in this situation. This was someone's pet and it wasn't right to leave it out in the road to be desecrated. I cautiously walked into the lane of traffic and approached the cat. His fluffy white fur was rippling in the breeze. I didn't have the slightest idea how to handle the poor thing. When I reached down and touched his back he let out a tiny meow. It was a small sound but it keeps ringing through my head. His eyes were open and the beautiful blue sky reflected in them. I realized he was still breathing and I wondered if there was still some way to save him. Then he stopped moving. I touched him again, wishing he could come back. He didn't.

I glanced toward the oncoming traffic and knew I still had a few seconds before the cars got too close for comfort. I put one hand under the cat's back and one under his front legs and was scared to reach around his body and feel blood, but there was none. I picked him up and he was so limp. I knew that all of the oncoming cars could see me and I couldn't help but lose my composure right there in the middle of the lane. I felt so guilty. I could have tried to get the driver's attention but here was this poor little cat dead in my hands. I might as well take the blame.

By the time I set foot in the parking lot I was sobbing. I placed the cat on the lawn in the shade of a tree. Part of me still wondered if any part of him was alive or aware of this. Only a few short minutes ago he was running in the sunshine dodging cars on his way home. How can life be stopped so suddenly? Only a few short minutes ago I was daydreaming of flying home to California to celebrate birthdays and my dad's upcoming retirement. It is amazing how quickly we can be brought right back to the ground. I couldn't help but try to comfort the empty vessel. I kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Then I would just cry louder. There was no room to feel embarrassed but I also had very little capacity to think rationally. I needed help. There was an HVAC worker in the parking lot but he just ignored me. He literally pretended he had no idea I was there. That just made me more upset.

I only had a few minutes before I had to be on my way back to work in time for a 12:30 meeting. I knocked on several doors but no one knew anything about the cat or its owners. I heard footsteps down another path and I hurried toward the sound. I recognized a friend from my ward and told her what happened. She agreed to look up someone (maybe Animal Control?) to come and get the cat. She said she'd also post a note on the door of the apartment where the cat lived. I am so grateful she was walking around the complex right when I needed her. I don't know what I would have done without her.

Now, 13 hours after the incident, I am home. I'm sitting in the house I lived in until I was 19. While I am safe, comfortable and warm I cannot forget how delicate life is. I would love to think I've built up an invincible wall of protection around myself, but it is really just an illusion. We can be called away from this mortal existence at any moment. Today taught me that if I had to go home in an instant, I would hope it is on a day full of sunshine and promise. I would want to feel the wind running through my hair as I sprinted toward the finish. I would hope that death came on swift heels and I that I had time to glance at the sky one last time before heading home to my maker. More than anything, I hope that someone would watch over me with sympathy and love in their heart as I slipped over to the other side.

Today I lost a little friend in this world and I hope that he is happy wherever he is. There is a small comfort in knowing that he will never again feel the pang of hunger of the shiver of a cold winter night. If his owners are missing him, I hope their hearts heal soon. More than anything, I hope he made it home.