Homeleaving: Dealing with Loss & Learning to Live Alone

To begin, a poem from Dennis O'Driscoll:

HOME

when all is said and done
what counts is having someone
you can phone at five to ask

for the immersion heater
to be switched to 'bath'
and the pizza taken from the deepfreeze


I am 29 1/2 years old and have been living alone, truly alone, for exactly two days. My mom got married on Saturday and left Sunday to move to her new husband's home in the state of Mississippi. Up until this point in my life I have always lived with either family or roommates. Now it is just me and my kitty in my little apartment in the big city.

All of these changes have gotten me to wonder what the notion of 'home' really is anyways. Is home a place? A physical building? I suppose this is partly so, after all don't we always feel a bit discombobulated when moving to a new dwelling? But, don't we then adapt after a while? And what about when we return to a place that was home, and though it is still familiar, it now feels distinctly different? When we have changed yet 'home' has stayed the same and we are now somehow alienated? No, 'home' cannot be a place. Is 'home' then, a person? This notion certainly has merit, for haven't we all felt that feeling where you haven't arrived 'home' yet from a long journey until you have seen and held a particular person? Or when you are in a place completely foreign to you, yet feel suprisingly comfortable and 'at home' because a certain person is with you? That's how I always felt about my mom. But if this is how we define 'home', then my home just left me.

Perhaps then, 'home' is something entirely less tangible. Being understood? A sense of purpose? Feeling loved? Or a combination of all of these? I suppose it will be a while before I know...