Coming Home
The weird thing about coming home is:
You think you’re going to be ecstatic, smiling from ear to ear, kissing the ground, loving everything and everyone.
But when I got home last night I was a complete and utter mess. I immediately set to unpacking my bags and cleaning my room. I kept to myself, catching up on all the internet I had missed. I was short with all my family members when they spoke to me and begrudgingly asked anyone for help doing things I’m not supposed to.
And at midnight when I should have been fast asleep, I sat in my basement and cried to my Mom about the pettiest things. This grew into bigger things, namely, me never ever wanting surgery again.
When I calmed down I apologized for acting like a child up past her bedtime. My Mom comforted me saying I was acting completely normal in her opinion. She said she came home and cried after every one of her hospital stays too.
It’s like you’re so relieved you’re home, thankful for what you have, shocked by what you went through and overwhelmed by the culmination of all these feelings happening at once that you can’t do anything but cry.
The weird thing about coming home is, it’s really weird.
