I’ve been feeling oddly disconnected lately. In late July, my sister and brother and I, and their families, got together in Michigan for a long weekend. The family is flung, literally around the globe. It was family fellowship mostly prompted by finally being able to schedule nearly everyone in the direct family to meet in Michigan at the cemetery in Cadillac where Mom and Dad have been interred.
My sweet sister and her husband are still in Michigan. And so are a special aunt and uncle and a few cousins. But something is feels different to me. I have never really considered that I had a “home.” I’ve always felt somewhat rootless after the family moved several times while I was young. I have places where I’ve spent some time that I consider to be “neighborhoods” but nothing like a home. Lately I kind of feel like I’ve been set adrift. Drifting in a kind of way that I’ve always wanted to anyway.
