Home?

I was just wasting time on Facebook, and saw on somebody's little tagline that they were home. It struck me. I don't have a clue where my home is anymore. Justin and I are homeless.
It was easy for the first 19 years of my life. My home was in Cranbrook, and I loved it. I loved Fisher Peak and the Steeples being at my doorstep. I loved the green, lush Kinsmen Park up the road from my house, with the creek washing away the dirt, leaving the cool, clear water flowing through my toes. I loved that everywhere I looked, there was a memory of sometime in my past, some recent, some from years and years before. I loved going to the same church and knowing the same people there from the time I was born until the time I got married and moved away.
And that's just it. Then I moved away. But Justin was with me, and we made a new home for ourselves in Burnaby. Although it took awhile. For the first year, I remember feeling lost and alone, not connected to any new friends and not connected to our old friends in the same way as it had been in good old Cranbrook. But we made new friends. We bought our very own apartment, before any other couples even thought it was possible to own their own place. And I loved our home. I looked outside and saw trees. I sat on my deck and felt the sun on my face, or sat in the office and watched the rain fall on my plants sitting outside, soaking it all in.
And then we moved again. Honestly, this is ridiculous. But Golden was a different kind of home for us. We knew we wouldn't be there forever, and our days off were spent more often exploring our surroundings like we were tourists than residents. We bought our home, 10 months after we moved there. And I loved our home. I looked outside and saw trees, sat on my swing and looked to the hillside behind our house. I traisped through the snow and loved my little kingdom.
And then we moved again.
Now we are in a town that I'm not sure we fit in. People are still mean, and stories are difficult to cover here. And our church and our care group and all the people we are just now starting to connect with live basically half an hour away. And I don't know what I love about this community. It smells funny, and I am not loved, or even liked, by a lot of people.
And my brother is in Alberta, and my parents are in Cranbrook, and our friends from our past life are just far enough out of reach that it is not easy to connect but not easy to disconnect.
I want a home where I have room to breathe. I want a home where our dogs can chase each other and we can lounge in the sun again. I want to plant sunflowers and vegetables and be there long enough to reap the benefits. And I want all that sooner, not later.
Sigh . . .