It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Life has had me on quite a journey these past few months — saying goodbye to my mother and traveling back to my hometown for the first time in forty-five years.

For a long time, I’ve known that when my mom eventually passed, it wouldn’t be an emotional moment for me in the traditional sense. The loss had happened in pieces, years ago. But I knew it would be emotional for my sister — and that’s why I went. I went to support her. I went to set aside my own anxieties, fears, and old wounds to stand beside her when she needed me most.

Reuniting with my sister after eleven years was bittersweet. The circumstances were heavy, but we still managed to find light in the cracks — laughing together, reminiscing, and rediscovering a closeness that had been waiting quietly under the surface all along.

I’d braced myself for a tidal wave of emotions when I returned — for the flood of pain that I was sure would come. But it didn’t. When we drove past my childhood home, I felt… nothing. The house I once knew had been remodeled, the familiar façade replaced by something new. Maybe that’s what spared me the sting — seeing that the ghosts of the past had already moved on.

My sister and I visited old haunts, took pictures, and met up with high school acquaintances. To my surprise, those “acquaintances” quickly felt like long-lost friends — people who had quietly shared the same streets, the same memories, and who had grown into kind, grounded adults. After forty-five years, we finally met each other again as the people life had shaped us into. I fully intend to keep in touch and plan a longer visit next time. There are still so many stories to exchange — stories that connect the past to who we’ve become today.

This trip turned out to be something I didn’t expect: healing. It allowed me to close a painful chapter — one full of old trauma and complicated memories — and begin to rebuild my emotional life from a place of peace. I have someone very special in my life now, someone who deserves all of me, not the pieces weighed down by yesterday. And while I know there will be moments when the past sneaks back in, I finally feel ready to face those moments with strength and grace.

Oh — and remember that therapist I had to say goodbye to when she moved away? Well, she’s back in my life. My therapist again. And somehow, that full-circle moment feels like life’s way of reminding me: I’m right where I need to be. The future looks bright — and yes, it’ll take continued work — but I’m walking toward it with an open heart and a lighter soul.

If you’ve ever gone “home” again, what did you discover there — about the place, or maybe about yourself? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.