I eagerly anticipated Tate’s college Christmas break. 

I envisioned family meals spread on the dining room table night after night.  Piles of beef tenderloin with roasted potatoes, pot roast and carrots, his favorite cream of mushroom soup… (Tate is my carnivore.)

Tate had visions of Burger House and late nights with friends. 

I had grown accustomed to my tidy third floor. Tate had grown accustomed to apartment living. 

There comes a time when Christmas decorations need to be taken down and put away. The tree, fresh and fragrant, filled with bright twinkle lights, became instantly frazzled and tired by January 1. Garland and tinsel and cherished vintage ornaments need to be returned to attic storage to rejuvenate and regain holiday magic for next year. 

There comes a time when college kids need to return to college, bittersweet though it may be.

Sunday, Tate drove back to college to begin the spring semester of his sophomore year. As I watched the Redskins lose to the Seahawks, Tate sent me a text saying, “I’m home.”

What? Home?

I wanted to respond… NO, you are back in Fayetteville. Home is here in Dallas. With me!

But I knew what he meant.

We all have more than one home. Home is the place where memories are strung together like pearls on a necklace. The place where all our yesterdays live. 

I’m home as soon as I cross State Line Avenue into Texarkana. I’m home as soon as I cross the Red River back into Texas.

I am home any time I’m with my family. I miss Tate already.