memories of home || with pictures of Canada

There's a specific moment that I remember from a little over a year ago. Back when semi-perminant relocation to Canada was only a plan. Probably before most of my friends even knew it was a plan. I remember this moment so vividly that I thought I must have written it down in my dairy but even after reading through every day from the last year, I couldn't find it. So it must just be one of those tiny slices of time that my brain chose to remember. 

It was evening and my whole family was at home. The fire was probably going and who knows, Ned the dog was probably even inside. It was worship time and we had all gathered in the lounge room to listen to Dad read whatever that day's worship was on.

As I sat there in complete cosy and contentment, the thought sprung into my mind: It won't be long and I won't have these tiny moments anymore. At this, I looked around, memorising every detail of the room and what was happening. My eyes slowly ran over the piano, the kitchen, the dining room, the oddly painted ceiling (don't ask), the unfinished architraves (or rather, missing architraves), the unpainted but splotched with rogue paint concrete floor, the big fire crackling by the wall. The big, round, rug that mum had made out of old sheets. She'd spent months and months working on that rug. It had a dark pink rim and then, with an off-white background, swirls of green, blue and pink wove their way into a homey not-pattern. There were the blue lounges that we've had almost as long as I can remember, they have some holes and melted spots from when someone placed them too close to the fire, and the blue lounges that we'd just acquired second-hand and everyone would fight over because they were so comfy. Then there was the ugly lounge that was covered in an almost equally as ugly blanket. If Ned was inside, that's where he was curled up. Daddy was probably on that lounge too - he wouldn't have showered yet after a long day out in the garden and that was the assigned dirty lounge. 

Tom was probably sitting at the table, kinda removed from everyone and outside the ring of lounges. He was probably trying to be secretive about still using his phone - obviously prohibited during worship time. Josh was probably sitting over there with him. With us, but not really. Jack was sitting on Mum's lap, because although he's getting much too big to do that: baby privileges. I mean, even I still try to sit on her lap sometimes. She had her glasses perched on the end of her nose, following along with Dad's reading in her own book. She looked tired. She always looks tired in the evening.

Hannah and Ella, curled up in their own lounges with their own looked contemplative and slightly bored and me, I was in my favourite lounge chair. (Get to worship early and you win. The first come, first served seating basis in big families is real.) I wasn't reading along anymore. I was trying to save everything to remember for the future. The small of the freshly baked bread that Mum had lovingly made that day, or was it a Monday and she'd spent all day making sausage rolls and other tempting delicacies to sell at the markets the next day. The gentle melody of Dad's voice as he read. The sound of the crickets and other evening animals outside. Everything was home. 

* * *

It's Sabbath morning here in Canada. I woke up with this memory in my brain. It's strange, I haven't really thought about it since that night but all of a sudden, the picture is so vivid and it's all I can think about. I knew I'd miss the little things but I didn't know that those little things would be things like getting ready for church on Sabbath morning, having to leave early so that we didn't get stuck behind slow church friends on our way to church, real bread, being able to talk to my family whenever I wanted to, getting woken up by Mum making breakfast, or waking Mum up by making breakfast.

There is so much I miss about living at home but mostly home. Home is not a building or a place, although I have lots of places that I call home. Home is a feeling, a knowing. Home is friends. Home is family. Home is feeling, knowing that you are safe, that you a free and that you are loved and appreciated. This, is home.

I came to this realisation while I perched precariously on top of a mountain just two weeks before I left Australia. There I was, getting blown about by a fiercely cold winter wind, huddled on the tiny summit with some of my favourite people in the world. Knowing that this was the last time I would see some of them for a very long time, realising that even on that mountain, I was home. 

And yes, now Canada has a part of my heart and I'll call it one of my homes when I leave. But truly, home is where my family is, where my friends are. It's where my heart is. Home is, well, at home!