Longing for Home
It’s not just missing them.
It’s missing what life felt like when they were still here.
The ease of calling them.
The sound of their voice.
The way the world made more sense just because they were in it.
Now everything feels different.
It’s a strange kind of homesickness—
where the place you long to go
is a person you can’t go back to.
Familiar places feel unfamiliar.
Even the good moments feel off—because they’re not here for any of it.
Life keeps moving.
I keep moving with it.
But part of me is still reaching for someone who isn’t here anymore.
I’m homesick.
Not for a place.
For them.
And no matter how much time passes, I don’t think that feeling ever really fades.
Because when someone is your home,
you never stop feeling the space they leave behind.
That’s what grief is.
Not just a moment.
But a lifelong homesickness for someone who made everything feel okay.
It’s not just missing them.
It’s missing what life felt like when they were still here.
The ease of calling them.
The sound of their voice.
The way the world made more sense just because they were in it.
Now everything feels different.
It’s a strange kind of homesickness—
where the place you long to go
is a person you can’t go back to.
Familiar places feel unfamiliar.
Even the good moments feel off—because they’re not here for any of it.
Life keeps moving.
I keep moving with it.
But part of me is still reaching for someone who isn’t here anymore.
I’m homesick.
Not for a place.
For them.
And no matter how much time passes, I don’t think that feeling ever really fades.
Because when someone is your home,
you never stop feeling the space they leave behind.
That’s what grief is.
Not just a moment.
But a lifelong homesickness for someone who made everything feel okay.
If you’ve enjoyed my writing here, What Remains brings together many of my most meaningful pieces in one place. It’s a collection of writings about grief, love, loss, and the lasting connections that remain.
Available now on Amazon