“There is no place like home.”
~ L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
That word might be a trigger for you as well as it is for me. HOME means so much to so many for so many reasons-joyful and not so much.
But you had to be living under a rock if you hadn’t been made aware, nor worse, been impacted by the raging fires, floods, mudslides, volcanoes, explosions, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, wars, etc. that have drop-kicked millions around the globe from their homebased lives onto foundationless ash and rubble. Beloved memories, cherished pictures and letters and family treasures lost in the smoke and ethers. Plus, far too many lives lost-trapped and buried in the unimaginable maelstrom. Gone in a blink.
We can zero-in on the horror of it all, but we’d need new vocabularies to describe the infinite limitless horror. Yet, that’s not what I want to talk about today.
I want to talk about the thing that got me off the floor and faced a new day when my own home was ripped out from under me. My beloved home in the Hollywood Hills, California, some 30+ years ago when my reality was destroyed– after divorce and raising our beautiful sons and living the kind of heavenly life that only began when those two boys were born. I was reborn with them.
So, when all the material wonderful stuff I adored so much was taken away-crushed by the crash and burn of a 25+ year marriage and unthinkable bankruptcy pulling my beautiful home out from under me, I thought I would die.
Indeed, I wanted to die.